The Arrangement: Chapter 11

The Murphy bed’s not exactly spacious, but it’s enough for this moment, her nestled against me as she drifts off. There’s a clarity in the quiet, a certainty that she’s what I’ve been looking for—not just for me, but for Adelina too, who’s needed a mother figure for a long while now.

It’s insane how quickly I feel this way toward her. I’ve only known Tory for a couple of days and I’m already considering her as a stepmother for my daughter? I should be chastising myself for such thoughts.

But they seem so right.

I’d stay if I could. I’d take things further than this, deeper, still. I’d wrap the night around us and forget the world outside. But I’ve got promises to keep, especially to Adelina. Breakfast plans with her aren’t something I’m willing to break. She counts on me, and I won’t let her down.

Leaning close, I breathe in the scent of Tory’s hair, a moment of peace amidst the chaos of my life. She’s sound asleep, worn out, and I know she’s got her own early start tomorrow. With a silent reluctance, I carefully disentangle myself and get dressed, the quiet of the room heavy with the echoes of what’s passed between us.

Before I go, I scribble a note, something to remind her of the connection we’ve shared tonight and the promise of what’s to come.

Looking forward to Friday. Sleep well, Tory, I write, hoping the words convey more than just the sentiment, but the anticipation, the promise of more.

Leaving her in the dim light of her office-turned-bedroom feels like stepping away from a moment suspended in time. But the note, that small token, is a bridge to the next time we meet.

Silently, I make my exit, the weight of the night and the promise of the future mingling in my thoughts as I step out into the early morning. The city’s quiet, the world unaware of the shift that’s just occurred in my heart.

The morning drive takes me straight to the doorstep of my father’s imposing estate, its vastness a testament to the Morozov legacy. The structure looms large, all sleek lines and expansive windows, a fortress masquerading as a home.

As I pull into the circular drive, Aleksey’s car is impossible to miss. It’s the kind of vehicle that doesn’t just whisper wealth—it shouts it, chrome glinting in the morning light, as subtle as a gunshot. It irks me, his penchant for the ostentatious. In our line of work, discretion is key, but Aleksey’s choices are a constant signal of excess.

I park my own car, its understated elegance a deliberate choice, and make my way to the front door. The cool metal of the handle gives way to the familiar warmth of the interior as I step inside. It takes but a moment before the quiet is shattered by the sound of tiny feet on marble.

Adelina, my heart, rushes into the entry hall with the unbridled joy only a child can muster. Her arms are thrown wide and I scoop her up without hesitation.

“Papa!”

“Princess!”

Her laughter fills the space, echoing off the high ceilings as her cheek presses against mine. She’s still clad in her pajamas, a whimsical pattern of cartoons dancing across the fabric.

‘I didn’t know you were coming so early,’ she says into my shoulder, her words muffled but filled with sleep-tinged surprise.

Smiling, I kiss her cheek, setting her down with a gentle reminder. ‘Can’t keep a beautiful girl waiting,’ I say, a hint of playfulness in my tone. “Now, go grab your things. I need to meet with dedushka.”

“Okay, Papa. Can we get waffles?”

“We can get whatever you want.”

She giggles, a sound that cuts through the heaviness of my world and darts off to get ready. I watch her go, her energy wild.

Tiffany steps into the hall, the picture of polished grace despite the early hour. “She was a pleasure, as always.”

“Good to hear. And thanks again.”

She smiles. “Happy to do it. Can I get you some coffee, Max?”

‘No, thank you,’ I decline, keeping it brief. We’re about to dive deeper into a morning catch-up when my father’s voice cuts through any attempt at small talk.

“Mak-siiim!” His command booms from upstairs, unmistakable and urgent.

Tiffany’s eye roll is quick, a shared moment of understanding between us. ‘As you can hear, he’s already deep into work,’ she quips, a hint of dry humor lacing her words. “I’ll help Adelina get dressed.”

I nod, acknowledging the situation with a resigned sigh, and make my way upstairs. The familiarity of the estate guides me to his office, a room that’s as vast and imposing as the man himself.

Aleksey is in the office, his presence noted with a mere nod—a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that bind and divide us. My focus shifts to my father, Igor, a figure of authority ensconced behind his desk. His question pierces the morning calm, direct and loaded with expectation.

‘Why has Ned’s debt been forgiven? The bitch should pay it.’

I wince at him referring to Tory in such a way. “No reason for such language, Father. So far, she’s been compliant.”

He has no idea.

All the same, the knowledge in my father’s words throws me off balance. How? The decision was mine alone, fresh from last night, shared with no one but Tory herself. I scan their faces, seeking a hint, a clue. Nothing. The revelation hangs heavy, an unseen maneuver in a game I thought I controlled.

“Of course she’s been compliant – you forgave the debt! For the sum you just brushed away she ought to be painting your goddamn house!”

Frowning, I counter, ‘She doesn’t have the money. She’s barely making ends meet, living in the back of the shop.’ My defense, laying bare Tory’s struggles, feels like a betrayal, yet necessary to explain my motivations.

Aleksey jumps in, his voice laced with a solution that’s as cold as it is practical. ‘She can sell the shop. The space is worth more than her debt.’

“Someone’s done his research,” I say, my tone sharp.

“Someone has to work around here,” Aleksey counters. “And if the rest of us enforcers went around forgiving debts, there’d be no operation to speak of.”

“And how would you afford the premium gas for your tiny-dick car then?” I reply quietly.

Aleksey narrows his eyes, looking practically ready to fight.

“Enough.” Father’s tone ends the scrap before it can begin. His nod seals my worst fears. ‘The debt is not erased,’ he declares, his verdict final, a command that rewrites my intentions, my promises to Tory.

Shit. I’d hope Father would forgive this move. No such luck.

‘I’ve already cleared it with her. The woman’s struggling. It’s not just about the money,’ I press, trying to find footing in an argument that seems to be slipping away from me.

Father’s response is immediate, his voice cutting through any semblance of debate. ‘The decision has been made, Maksim. Our word is our bond. You can’t just erase debts because you feel pity for someone. Imagine if word were to get out of what you did. Every business in the city would be asking for our mercy.”

Sounds like word already did get out, I think, still wondering how the hell my father even knows about this.

‘But isn’t there a line? Something that separates us from—’ I try again, desperate to make him see reason.

‘There are no lines when it comes to our business. You know this. The woman will find a way to pay.” My father’s tone brooks no further argument.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Aleksey’s smug expression, a silent testament to his satisfaction with how the conversation is unfolding.

Before I can probe further, before I can dissect the layers of betrayal and secrecy that seem to be wrapping tighter around me, Adelina bursts through the door. Her presence serves as an immediate cease-fire.

‘Papa!’ she exclaims. “Can we go?”

The argument, the tension, it all fades into the background, pushed aside by the immediacy of her needs. This isn’t the time or place to delve deeper into my suspicions.

“Take her,” Father says. “She’s been looking forward to this since you dropped her off last night.”

With a final glance at Father and Aleksey, a silent promise to settle this unfinished business, I turn my attention to Adelina. She moves effortlessly across the room. She plants a soft kiss on Father’s cheek, a gesture of affection for her grandfather that momentarily softens the hardened lines of his face.

“Oh, little one,” he says, giving her a hug. “You make me feel like a young man again.”

She laughs and turns to me, her small hand finding mine with urgency. ‘I’m starving, Papa,’ she declares, pulling me back to the present, back to the role that matters most.

“Then I won’t keep you waiting another moment. Come.”

“Bye Dedushka, bye Uncle Alex.”

As I allow her to lead me away, I cast one last glance over my shoulder. Aleksey is leaning in close to Father, a conspiratorial whisper shared between them. Even from this distance, even without catching every word, I’m certain I hear Tory’s name pass between them.

This moment, fleeting yet loaded with implication, cements the unease that’s been building in the pit of my stomach. The argument may have been paused, the immediate confrontation dissolved by Adelina’s entrance, but the undercurrents of betrayal and secrecy are far from resolved.

With Adelina’s hand in mine, her anticipation for breakfast pulling me forward, I step out of the office, the weight of unresolved tensions pressing heavily on my shoulders. The battle lines are drawn, not just against external threats, but within the very walls that are supposed to be my stronghold.