Page 137 of Porcelain Lies

Pizdets.

I pour myself two fingers of vodka, letting the chilled liquid swirl in the crystal glass. Maranzano’s betrayal burns deeper than the alcohol. The fucker clearly stole my weapons contracts and undercut my price to win over the Ministry of Defense.

“Calm down,mudak.”

First I’ll deal with Whitmore. Then, Maranzano will learn exactly why no one fucks with my empire. I crush the ice cube between my molars. Let the Italian enjoy his victory… for a minute. It’ll make his scream sweeter when I carve it from his throat.

The plane levels out at cruising altitude. The leather seat creaks as I shift, studying the latest contract terminations on my tablet. The numbers paint an ugly picture — we’re hemorrhaging market share faster than I anticipated.

Maranzano isn’t just undercutting prices. He’s systematically hitting my entire distribution network, using inside knowledge to hit weak points I didn’t even know existed. He’s not even bothering to be subtle about it. Does he really think he can slip under the radar and vanish to fucking Argentina before I notice?

“Blyad.” The curse slips out as I scroll through Vasya’s analysis.

I check the latest financial reports, looking for patterns. The systematic dismantling of my weapons business bears all the hallmarks of a coordinated attack. He wants me desperate, off-balance, scrambling to plug the leaks.

The vodka glass freezes halfway to my lips as a new theory forms. What if the weapons contracts aren’t the real target? What if this is about something else entirely? What if Maranzano’s going for total destruction? The leaked client information, the targeted contract cancellations — he’s not trying to compete. He’s trying to bleed me dry.

“Chert voz’mi!”My fingers tighten around the glass.

The lost contracts aren’t just about revenue — they’re about credibility. Each cancellation makes the next one easier, creating a domino effect that could bring down everything I’ve built.

The glass shatters in my grip. Sasha glances back but knows better than to comment as I brush crystal shards from my lap.

Blood beads where glass nicked my palm. I watch it drip, remembering other betrayals, other lessons taught in blood. Maranzano thinks he’s clever, using my own tactics against me. But he’s forgotten one crucial detail.

I didn’t build this empire by being predictable.

The city lights of Washington spread below as we begin our descent. My jaw clenches, tension radiating through my shoulders. Ten years of careful planning, building an untouchable weapons business — I won’t let somepizdalike Maranzano tear it all down.

I check my watch. Two hours until the meeting with Whitmore. Plenty of time to remind him exactly who he’s dealing with.

My phone buzzes again. Diana.

“Everything okay?” I keep my voice neutral, though my grip tightens on the armrest.

“Da. Just checking your ETA. Bobik’s asking about badminton tomorrow.”

“Tell him I’ll be back soon.” The promise steadies me, reminding me exactly what I’m protecting.

I end the call as we pull into the hangar. Time to focus. Whitmore needs to understand that crossing me isn’t just bad business — it’s suicide.

Anyone trying to tear my empire down will learn that lesson in blood.

Chapter Forty

Stella

Diana’s sudden appearance in my doorway with a covered tray jolts me from my morning yoga stretches.

It’s 7 am. Breakfast is always at 8. After Imelda’s clockwork routine, this change sets my nerves on edge.

“I thought I’d join you for breakfast.” Diana’s polished Russian accent carries an undercurrent I can’t quite read. She sets the tray down carefully, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light.

“Where’s Imelda?” I rise from my mat, watching Diana arrange the plates with precision.

“Taking care of other matters.” She lifts the silver covers to reveal eggs, rye toast and orange juice. “I thought we could chat.”

I frown. After yesterday’s cryptic behavior around my food, Diana’s presence with my meal feels less like courtesy and more like intervention.

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