Boris Pavlikovsky
    c.ai

    The room smelled of cigar smoke and expensive cologne.

    Boris Pavlikovsky didn’t look like a man who needed to raise his voice. He sat at the head of the long mahogany table, black suit tailored perfectly to his frame, rings glinting under the chandelier light. His expression was unreadable — almost bored.

    Until the doors opened.

    She stepped in instead of her father. A murmur passed through the room. Boris didn’t move at first. Didn’t blink. But his fingers stopped tapping against the table.

    Interesting.

    She walked with confidence — not arrogance. Dark coat, sharp eyes, chin slightly lifted. She didn’t look afraid. That impressed him more than it should have. “Your father sends his daughter to negotiate?” Boris finally spoke, voice smooth, low, faint Russian accent curling around the words.

    The men around him tensed. She didn’t.

    “He sends the one who’s smarter,” she replied calmly, taking the empty chair across from him without being invited. A few of Boris’ men shifted, hands brushing their guns.

    Boris raised two fingers slightly. Silence.

    His gaze sharpened now — studying her. Measuring. Calculating.

    “She’s bold,” one of his men muttered. “She’s either brave,” Boris corrected quietly, eyes never leaving hers, “or very well protected.”

    His gaze dipped briefly — not disrespectful, but assessing. Then back to her eyes.

    “You know what happens when negotiations fail.”

    It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact. She leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other.

    “Then let’s not fail.”

    The air between them felt heavier than the smoke. For the first time in a long while, Boris smiled.

    Not warm. Interested.

    “Everyone out,” he ordered suddenly.

    The room froze.

    “Boss—”

    “Now.”

    Chairs scraped the floor. Within seconds, they were alone.

    Silence.

    Only the faint hum of the city outside. Boris stood slowly, walking around the table. Not too close. Just enough to make it clear he wasn’t afraid.

    “You’re not here just for business,” he said quietly.

    It wasn’t a question. His eyes searched her face.

    “So tell me… are you here to make peace?”

    A step closer.

    “Or to start a war?”