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Chapter 38: Expanding the Business

Chapter 38: Expanding the Business

Morning light cut across the long table in the private study as Katya laid out the latest reports. The room smelled faintly of coffee and paper. Outside the tall windows, Moscow moved under a pale sky, ordinary and unaware of the quiet restructuring happening inside the mansion.

Dmitri stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled once at the wrists, reading through the projected figures with the same focused attention he gave to more violent matters. Anya sat to his right, a tablet in front of her, already scanning the same numbers from a different angle.

"The southern routes are stable enough to expand," Katya said. "Demand is rising, and the remaining independent crews are either folding or looking for protection. If we move now, we can absorb two of the mid-level distributors before someone else does."

Dmitri didn’t look up immediately. "And the risk?"

"Manageable. The larger problem is visibility. The more product we move, the more attention we attract from people who prefer to tax what they can’t control."

Anya scrolled through a second page. "Then we don’t expand only on the illegal side. We need cleaner channels running parallel to it."

Both Dmitri and Katya looked at her.

She continued before the silence could settle. "A logistics company. Legitimate on paper. Warehousing, transport, regional contracts. If we structure it properly, it gives us cover for movement and a place to wash money without relying only on the clubs and construction fronts."

Dmitri studied her for a moment. "You’ve already looked into this."

"Yes." Anya turned the tablet so he could see the notes she had prepared. "There are three small firms under pressure in the southern districts. One of them is closer to collapse than the others. If we acquire it carefully, we get vehicles, existing licenses, and staff who already understand the routes. We don’t have to build everything from nothing."

Katya raised an eyebrow. "That would reduce startup noise. But the owner may not be easy. Men in that position often hold on longer than they should."

Dmitri read through the notes in silence. When he finished, he set the tablet down and looked at Anya properly. "You want to handle the approach."

"I want to be involved," she said. "People already watch how close I stand to you. If I’m going to be part of this, I should understand the business side as well as the rest."

For a moment he said nothing. Then a faint shift moved through his expression — not surprise, but calculation mixed with approval.

"Alright," he said. "You take the first meeting. Katya supports the financial structure. I want it clean enough to survive a surface inspection. And I want leverage prepared before you sit down with him."

Anya nodded. "I’ll start with the firm under the most pressure. If he believes the alternative is losing everything, he may listen. But I won’t assume he’ll agree easily."

Dmitri’s eyes held hers. "Good. Desperation makes people unpredictable. Some sell. Some dig in harder."

Katya gathered the remaining files. "I’ll prepare the first draft of the holding structure and the pressure points by this evening. Credit history, outstanding debts, local complaints, anything useful."

When she left, the study felt quieter. Dmitri remained standing near the table, watching Anya as she closed the tablet.

"You’re pushing further into the structure," he said.

"Yes."

"Why now?"

Anya met his gaze directly. "Because staying only on the edges isn’t safer. It just makes me less prepared. If people are going to target me because of what I am to you, then I need to be more than a vulnerability."

Dmitri was silent for a few seconds. Then he moved around the table and stopped in front of her. One hand rose to the side of her neck, his thumb resting lightly against her skin.

"You’re not a vulnerability," he said. "But you’re right about one thing. The closer you stand to the center, the harder it becomes for anyone to treat you as temporary."

Anya held his gaze. "Then let me stand there properly."

His thumb brushed once along her jaw. "I am."

The first meeting with the logistics owner took place two days later in a small, tired office above a vehicle bay. The place smelled of oil, paper, and old coffee. The man across the desk, Mikhail Sobolev, was in his fifties, broad-shouldered, with the wary posture of someone who had spent years keeping a struggling business alive through sheer stubbornness.

Anya sat opposite him with a folder in front of her. She had not brought Dmitri into the room. Presence alone would have turned negotiation into pressure too quickly.

"I know why you’re here," Sobolev said after the initial formalities. "People like your husband don’t buy companies like mine unless they need something specific."

Anya kept her tone even. "I’m here because your firm has routes, licenses, and experienced drivers. Those things have value. Your current debt structure is making that value harder to keep."

Sobolev gave a short, humorless sound. "So this is a rescue."

"It’s an offer," she replied. "Whether it becomes a rescue depends on how long you think you can continue as you are."

He leaned back in his chair and studied her. "And if I say no?"

"Then you continue fighting creditors, delayed payments, and contracts that keep slipping away." Anya opened the folder and turned it toward him. "I’ve seen the numbers. You’re not failing because you don’t know the work. You’re failing because the margins are gone and the pressure is rising. That doesn’t improve with time."

Sobolev’s jaw tightened. "I’ve built this place for twenty years."

"I know."

"And you expect me to hand it over because a few accounts look bad on paper?"

"I expect you to look at the alternative," Anya said. "If one of your larger creditors moves first, you lose control without choosing the terms. If you deal with us, you leave with money, a clean exit, and your senior drivers kept under contract."

The silence that followed was long. Sobolev rubbed a hand over his face, then looked at the papers again without really reading them.

"I need time," he said finally.

Anya closed the folder. "You can have some. Not much. Delaying won’t change the math."

He nodded once, reluctant. "I’ll contact you."

When Anya returned to the mansion and reported the conversation, Dmitri listened without interruption. Only when she finished did he speak.

"He’ll try to find another way out first," he said. "When he fails, he’ll come back."

"Yes."

"And when he does, we don’t improve the offer."

Anya met his eyes. "I wasn’t planning to."

A faint edge of approval moved through Dmitri’s expression. Later that evening, after further discussion with Katya about structure and leverage, the two of them were alone again in their private wing. The day had been long, but the work had left a different kind of tension between them less sharp than violence, more focused.

Dmitri poured a drink he barely touched and leaned against the sideboard, watching her.

"You’re changing the way they see you," he said.

Anya looked up from the notes she had been reviewing. "Is that a problem?"

"No." He set the glass down and crossed to her. "It’s necessary."

His hand settled at her waist, drawing her in. The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, grounded in the quiet intensity of the day rather than urgency. Anya responded without hesitation, her fingers resting against his chest as the weight of negotiation and strategy temporarily gave way to something simpler.

They did not rush beyond that. For a while, closeness was enough.

Later, as the mansion settled into night, Dmitri’s phone lit up with a short message from one of the southern captains. He read it once, then again, the focus returning to his face at once.

Anya noticed the change immediately. "What is it?"

Dmitri’s voice was calm, but the edge under it was clear.

"One of the new shipments was hit."