New Novel
Chapter 40: Southern Pressure

Chapter 40: Southern Pressure

Pavel had been kept in one of the secure lower rooms for three days. Long enough for the shock of capture to settle. Long enough for him to understand that no one was coming to bargain for him. Not the Orlovs. Not Mirsky. Not whoever else had been willing to buy information when it was convenient.

When Dmitri and Anya entered the room that morning, Pavel looked thinner than before. The arrogance he had carried at the rail yard was gone, replaced by the dull tension of a man who had run out of angles.

Dmitri closed the door behind them and did not sit.

"You’ve had time to think," he said. "So I’ll ask you again. Who else saw the information you sold?"

Pavel’s eyes moved from Dmitri to Anya, then back again. "I already told you. The broker handled the transfer. I didn’t sit in a room with the final buyer."

"That isn’t good enough anymore," Anya said. Her voice was calm, but there was no softness in it. "You sold more than numbers. You sold access to me. I want every name you touched on the way out."

Pavel let out a slow breath. "There was a man working under Mirsky. Not official. He handled quiet acquisitions. He was the one who confirmed the value of what I had before the payment moved."

Dmitri’s expression did not change. "His name."

"Andrei Rudenko."

Anya glanced at Dmitri. The name was new, but it fit the pattern people who stayed just far enough from the surface to keep their hands clean.

"And the Orlovs?" Dmitri asked.

Pavel hesitated. "They knew I was running. They didn’t give me protection for free. They wanted updates if I heard anything useful about your southern routes. I gave them scraps. Nothing critical."

"You still gave them something," Anya said.

"Yes."

Dmitri studied him for a long moment. The room stayed quiet except for the low hum of the ventilation. Finally he spoke.

"You’ll remain here. Alive. For now. If Rudenko or Mirsky become useful through you, you stay useful. If not..." He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Pavel lowered his gaze.

Outside the room, once the door was sealed again, Anya walked beside Dmitri in silence until they reached the upper corridor.

"You’re keeping him alive because he still has value," she said.

"Yes."

"And when he doesn’t?"

Dmitri looked at her. "Then the debt is collected."

There was no heat in the words. Only certainty.

By afternoon, the focus of the mansion had shifted back to the southern districts. The message Dmitri had sent after the shipment attack had quieted the smaller crews, but it had also sharpened the Orlov response. Reports from Katya’s network showed increased movement along their side of the line more vehicles, more weapons, more closed-door meetings.

In the war room, the map of southern Moscow glowed above the table. Several points were marked in red.

"They’re preparing a push," Katya said. "Not a full war. Not yet. But enough pressure to test whether the routes you’ve taken can be pulled back."

Dmitri stood with his hands braced on the edge of the table. "Where first?"

"The distribution points near the old factory zone. If they disrupt those, your new logistics cover becomes harder to use."

Anya studied the map. "Then we don’t wait for them to choose the timing."

Both Dmitri and Katya looked at her.

"If we let them set the first major move, we spend the next month responding," she continued. "If we strike one of their key points first, we force them to defend instead of advance."

Dmitri’s eyes rested on her with quiet intensity. "You want a preemptive hit."

"Yes. Targeted. Controlled. Something that makes it clear the southern line is not open for recovery."

Katya considered the map again. "It could work. But it escalates things."

"They’re already escalating," Anya said.

A silence settled over the table. Then Dmitri nodded once.

"Prepare two options," he told Katya. "One focused on their factory-zone storage. One on the vehicle depot they use for night movement. I want both plans ready by tonight."

Katya gave a short nod and left to begin the work.

When they were alone, Dmitri turned fully toward Anya. For a moment he simply looked at her, as if measuring how far she had stepped into the structure of his world.

"You’re becoming dangerous," he said quietly.

Anya held his gaze. "I learned from the best."

Something darker and more personal moved through his expression. He reached out, took her hand, and pulled her closer until there was almost no space left between them. His other hand came up to the side of her neck, thumb brushing along her jaw as he leaned in.

The first kiss was firm. Controlled. Then it deepened.

Anya’s fingers curled into the front of his shirt as Dmitri’s mouth opened against hers, the contact turning hotter and more demanding. He backed her toward the private adjoining room off the war room, never fully breaking the kiss until the door was closed behind them.

"I’ve been watching you all day," he muttered against her mouth. "The way you read the map. The way you speak in that room now."

"And?" she breathed.

"It makes me want to take you apart."

He kissed her again, harder this time, one hand sliding under her top to find bare skin. Anya gasped softly into his mouth as his palm moved up her waist and higher, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. His thumb dragged over her nipple until it tightened under his touch.

They undressed in stages, clothes falling to the floor without care. Dmitri lifted her onto the low cabinet against the wall and stepped between her thighs. His mouth trailed down her throat, then lower, closing over one breast and sucking with slow, deliberate pressure while his hand worked the other.

Anya’s head tipped back, fingers sliding into his hair. "Dmitri..."

He didn’t rush. By the time he dragged her underwear down and pressed two fingers between her legs, she was already wet. He watched her face as he pushed them inside, curling them against the sensitive spot that made her hips jerk forward.

"That’s it," he said, voice low. "Open for me."

He worked her with his fingers until her breathing turned uneven and her thighs started to tremble. Only then did he free himself and replace his hand with the thick head of his cock, rubbing through her wetness before pushing in with one slow, deep thrust.

Anya’s moan broke against his shoulder. The stretch was familiar and still intense. Dmitri held still for a second, fully buried, forehead pressed to hers.

Then he started to move.

The pace was hard from the beginning deep, steady strokes that filled her completely each time. Anya wrapped her legs around him, taking every thrust as the cabinet edged lightly against the wall. One of his hands gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. The other stayed at the back of her neck, keeping her close, forcing her to hold his gaze.

"You feel that?" he growled. "This is mine."

"Yes"

He drove into her harder, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the small room. Anya’s climax built fast under the intensity of it. When it broke, she cried out against his mouth, her body clenching tightly around him. Dmitri followed soon after with a rough sound, burying himself to the hilt as he came.

For a while afterward they stayed locked together, breathing hard. Dmitri’s hand moved slowly up and down her back, the possessiveness in the touch quieter now but no less clear.

Eventually he eased out of her and rested his forehead against hers again.

"We move tomorrow night," he said, voice still rough.

Anya nodded, her fingers still curled in his shirt.

"Together."

Outside, the southern districts were already shifting. Inside the mansion, the next strike was beginning to take shape.

And this time, they intended to hit first.