Page 13 of Porcelain Lies

“Get me Dr. Hanson’s private number.” My voice comes out harder than intended. “The oncologist.”

“Of course, boss. Something wrong?”

“Just get it.” I end the call, my mind already mapping out the arrangements. Weekly home visits, discrete monitoring, whatever it takes. If Olga won’t take care of herself willingly, I’ll handle it my way.

The traffic remains gridlocked. Through the windshield, I watch construction workers gesture at each other with lazy movements. My phone buzzes — Boris sending the doctor’s information.

I scroll past Hanson’s number to Diana’s. She picks up mid-ring.

“Tell me everything.” Her voice carries that familiar mix of authority and warmth only my sister manages.

“The wheelchair’s a hit.” I merge into the right lane, dodging a delivery truck. “You should see him, Dee. Testing every feature, already memorized all the voice commands.”

“Of course he has. That boy’s brilliance puts us both to shame.” She pauses. “Did you let him show you his latest space drawings?”

“Spent an hour reviewing his theories about black holes.” The memory pulls at my chest. “He wants to be the first wheelchair-bound astronaut.”

“Solnyshko.” Diana’s tone softens. “He’ll figure out how to do it, too. That mind of his…”

“Exactly like his aunt’s.”

“Flatterer.” She laughs. “Though I never mastered quantum physics at ten.”

A motorcycle weaves between cars ahead, drawing my attention. “Olga’s looking rough.”

“I noticed last week. Did you talk to her?”

“Tried. She gave me some bullshit.” My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “I’m getting Hanson involved. She’s the mother of my child. I need her to be strong for him.”

“Good.” Diana clears her throat. “Speaking of motherhood… have you thought more about what we discussed regarding Sofia?”

“Not this again.” My jaw tightens. “I’ve told you — I don’t want to discuss it.”

“She’s perfect for the position. Her father controls three districts in Moscow, their shipping routes alone—”

“I don’t give a fuck about shipping routes.” I cut through lanes, forcing a BMW to brake hard. “Or her father’s connections.”

“Lyosha.” Diana’s using that tone, the one that makes her sound exactly like our mother. “You need legitimate heirs. The other families are watching, questioning. Sofia comes from the right background, she understands our world—”

“She’s a spoiled princess who’d run screaming if she knew half of what we do.” A horn blares as I accelerate through a yellow light. “And don’t start with the heir bullshit. I have a son.”

“A son no one can know about.” Her voice softens. “You know I love Bobik more than anything. But the Bratva needs—”

“The Bratva needs to mind its own fucking business.” Heat rises in my chest. “I’m not some breeding stallion for their succession games.”

“You’re thePakhan. There are expectations—”

“Then let them expect.” I swerve around a delivery truck blocking the right lane. “I’m done discussing this.”

“Aleksei Mikhailovich Tarasov!” Full name — she’s truly irritated now. “You can’t just—”

Traffic ahead comes to a dead stop. I slam the brakes, cursing under my breath as my phone slides off the console. Diana’s voice is still sharp through the speaker.

“Where are you headed anyway? It sounds like you’re in traffic.”

“Children’s charity event at the Fairmont.” I merge into the turn lane. “Supporting medical research.”

“With Sofia?” The hopeful lilt in her voice grates against my nerves.

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