Chapter 861: Comrades Forever!

The sleek private jet, gleaming with a silver base adorned by elegant red stripes, sliced through the clouds like a majestic eagle. Inside, the atmosphere was anything but serene. Lily and Elizabeth came out from the back bedroom, their faces pale and drained. They slumped into the plush sofa chairs, leaning back with heavy sighs, eyes closed in silent exhaustion. The fatigue from whatever had transpired before seemed to cling to them, stealing away even the desire to speak.

Martin, who had been resting in his cabin, appeared next, settling into a seat directly across from them. He glanced at the two women, noting the blank stares in their eyes. Before he could speak, the captain's voice crackled over the intercom, breaking the silence. "Attention, passengers: turbulence ahead. Please fasten your seatbelts."

Martin noticed that neither Lily nor Elizabeth had moved. Concern flashed across his face. He swiftly unbuckled himself and hurried over to them. With gentle hands, he secured their seat belts, ensuring they were safely fastened. Returning to his seat, he strapped in just as the jet began to jolt. The turbulence was no joke.

Elizabeth blinked and seemed to snap back to reality. Instinctively, she reached for Lily, who, trembling slightly, burrowed into Elizabeth's arms. Flying had never been Lily's strong suit, and she didn't try to hide her anxiety this time either. The plane lurched a few more times before finally settling into smoother air.

Martin waved over a flight attendant. "Could you bring two glasses of fruit wine, please?" When the drinks arrived, he offered one to Lily, his voice softening, "Here, something sweet will help you feel better."

Lily, still feeling parched from earlier, eagerly accepted the glass and downed it in one go. She handed the empty glass back and requested, "Could I have some lemonade, please? Thank you."

Watching her slowly regain some color in her cheeks, Elizabeth let out a breath of relief. "The turbulence on this route is always rough," she remarked, half to herself.

Martin shrugged. "I checked with the airport before we took off, it's nothing too serious." He leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "You know, earlier this year, that fool Leo went to Russia for an event. He hit such bad weather that a piece of the wing broke off. He was convinced he was done for."

Lily frowned and shot him a look that could kill. "Can we not talk about this? This trip's been one bout of turbulence after another, and I'm on the verge of getting airsick."

She turned to Elizabeth with wide, pleading eyes. "Did you hear him? He's always bullying me!"

Elizabeth chuckled and cradled Lily closer, casting a reproachful glance at Martin. "You're not helping, Martin. Don't scare her."

Lily snuggled further into the comfort of Elizabeth's embrace, clearly done with Martin's antics. She reached for her phone and began scrolling through Twitter, grateful for the distraction provided by the in-flight Wi-Fi. A few moments later, she grinned wickedly. "Hey, Martin, guess what? You're trending again, you idiot!"

Martin barely looked up. "As long as it's not a scandal, I don't care."

Elizabeth leaned over to glance at the screen. "One of your fans built a website dedicated to you, and it's gaining a lot of traction."

Lily tossed her phone onto the table in front of Martin. "Look at this. They're practically worshipping you!"

The website's title read: 'Martin Davis is Immortal'.

Martin scanned it briefly and scoffed. "These people are out here trying to turn me into some kind of deity."

Elizabeth looked more worried than amused. "You're so popular right now with 'John Wick 3' dominating the box office, but the way they're elevating you, it's almost dangerous. They're setting you up as something you can't possibly live up to."

Martin nodded slowly, understanding her point. "Yeah, being a 'god' isn't all it's cracked up to be. The second I slip up, they'll come after me like vultures. We've all seen how it goes, nobody stays on a pedestal forever."

Lily sat up, an idea sparking in her eyes. "Why don't we beat them to it? We could plant some controlled negative press about you. Break up the hype a bit so people remember you're just a guy, not some flawless icon."

Elizabeth's dimples appeared as she grinned. "You know, that's actually brilliant. Better to control the narrative and deflate the deification before it spirals out of control. We'll make sure the public sees you as a person, not some untouchable myth."

Martin's grin widened. "Alright, you two handle it. I trust your creative sabotage skills."

Lily, who'd just wrapped up an art exhibit, was itching for a new project. "Consider it done," she said, nudging Elizabeth playfully.

At that moment, Bruce, the team's long-time manager, waved from the other end of the cabin, catching their attention.

Elizabeth gave Martin a pointed look. "Looks like Bruce needs a word with you."

Martin straightened his jacket and made his way to the front cabin, where Bruce was seated, deep in thought. As Martin sat down across from him, Bruce leaned in, lowering his voice to a near-whisper.

"The results from Alexandrovich should be out any minute now," Bruce murmured, his eyes flicking to his phone as if waiting for an update.

Martin knew exactly what Bruce was referring to, the Ukrainian presidential election, a pivotal event that could reshape the nation's future. "And the latest poll?" Martin inquired, his voice calm yet laced with curiosity.

Bruce sighed. "His approval rating is hovering around 80 percent. If the numbers hold, he's basically won this thing."

Martin nodded, processing the information. "So, we'll know for sure today?"

Glancing at his watch, Bruce did some quick mental math, accounting for the time difference. "Yeah, should be any moment now."

---

Kyiv, Ukrainian Parliament Building

The room was tense, buzzing with anticipation. When the final election results were announced, the silence shattered like glass as cheers erupted from nearly 70% of the crowd. It was a moment charged with history, a wave of hope washing over the faces of those present. For countless Ukrainians glued to their TV screens at home, this was more than just an election, it was the dawn of a new era.

After years of disillusionment, crushed by corrupt politicians and oligarchs who bled the nation dry, the people were ready for change. They believed in Alexandrovich, who had risen from unlikely origins to embody the national hero they desperately sought. For them, he was a beacon of hope, a leader who would reclaim Ukraine's lost glory.

Inside the parliament hall, Alexandrovich remained a picture of composure. Despite the congratulations and embraces from his campaign team, he kept his emotions in check. There was no visible triumph, no overt display of joy, just quiet determination. Over the past year, Alexandrovich had learned the subtle art of controlling his public persona, a skill honed from his past life as an actor.

When it was time for his victory speech, he spoke with conviction, promising to guide Ukraine onto a "completely new path." His words, carefully chosen and delivered with practiced precision, stirred optimism among the people. Yet, few knew just how much he had already transformed, from entertainer to politician, from performer to strategist.

The results were in, but there were still weeks before the official transfer of power. After the speech, Alexandrovich and his wife Olena, flanked by security, exited the Parliament building and climbed into a sleek bulletproof car. As the vehicle weaved its way out of Kyiv's city center, Alexandrovich's phone rang. He answered with a knowing smile and, after a brief exchange, extended an invitation to the caller to attend the celebratory dinner that evening.

Their destination was the Ukraine Hotel, where Igor, the powerful head of the Privat Group, awaited them. Igor was an imposing figure, with a sharp suit and a distinguished gray beard that lent him a suave air, like a weathered gentleman who had seen it all. As they met in a private reception room, Igor offered a smooth, practiced smile. "Congratulations on the win," he said, though his eyes hinted at deeper layers of intent.

Alexandrovich returned the smile. "It's not just my win. Congratulations to us," he replied, his words laced with a shared understanding.

Igor chuckled, but his tone grew serious. "How's the cabinet formation going?"

"Almost finalized," Alexandrovich responded with a nod, then leaned in closer, his voice dropping. "What we discussed, I'll make it happen once I'm in office and the situation stabilizes."

The stakes were high for Igor. In recent years, his ties to Russia had put him in the crosshairs of Western sanctions, led by the United States, crippling his business empire. His support for Alexandrovich wasn't just about patriotism, it was a calculated move, a chance to ease relations with the West and, hopefully, lift the restrictions that had been strangling his ventures.

For Igor, the Western rhetoric of democracy and freedom was a façade. He'd seen how easily those ideals crumbled when it came to their dealings with people like him. As far as the West was concerned, he was little more than a convenient scapegoatn, a Ukrainian oligarch to be sanctioned at will but impossible to redeem.

Igor had no illusions about where he stood. In the corridors of Western power, even billionaires could be reduced to nothing more than fish on a chopping block, delivered there willingly, often without realizing until it was too late.

But now, with Alexandrovich in his corner, perhaps the tide would turn. Both men knew the game they were playing and they intended to win it.

Alexandrovich leaned back slightly, the weight of his new responsibilities already beginning to settle in his mind. "This situation is delicate," he said, choosing his words carefully. "When I take office, I'll need Mr. Igor to provide the relevant data and key information promptly. The more efficiently I can access it, the smoother things will go on my end."

Igor's eyes twinkled with satisfaction. He appreciated the deference from the incoming president. "I've already set things in motion. My team is organizing the data as we speak. You'll have everything you need shortly," he assured, his voice carrying the confidence of someone who was used to getting things done.

In a surprising move, Alexandrovich rose from his seat and bowed deeply, a full ninety degrees, a gesture of respect that caught Igor slightly off guard. "Mr. Igor," Alexandrovich said earnestly, "thank you for your unwavering support."

The bow wasn't just a courtesy; it was a strategic move. Alexandrovich knew that stroking Igor's ego was essential at this stage. Igor, taken aback but pleased, quickly stood and lifted Alexandrovich out of his bow, clasping his shoulders with familiarity. "We're more than just partners, Alexandrovich," Igor said with a grin. "We're friends, comrades-in-arms. In the battles ahead, we'll be fighting side by side."

Alexandrovich clasped Igor's hand firmly. "Comrades forever," he agreed, his voice full of conviction.

As the celebratory dinner commenced, Alexandrovich and his wife Olena mingled effortlessly among the guests. It was a crowd unlike any typical political gathering. Given his background in entertainment, Alexandrovich had built his campaign team with actors, producers, and industry insiders who had proven their loyalty. These weren't career politicians, they were people who knew how to perform under pressure, to craft narratives, and to command public attention. It was only natural that many of them would be rewarded with key positions in the new administration.

The future Secretary-General was already pegged to be Trofimov, a renowned producer. The mayoral seat of Kyiv would likely go to Alexandrovich's close friend, a former boxing champion. Even the position of Director of the Security Bureau was expected to be handed to a veteran television producer who had long worked with Alexandrovich. This was no ordinary government, it would be a cabinet filled with media-savvy figures, many of whom were more comfortable on stage than in the backrooms of politics.

After the dinner concluded, Alexandrovich and Olena retreated to their residence. They headed straight for the study, a room specially outfitted to block all electronic signals, Bruce had insisted on it for secure discussions. As they closed the door behind them, Olena turned to her husband, her eyes narrowing in concern.

"What does Igor want?" she asked bluntly.

Alexandrovich's expression darkened. "He expects me to follow through on what I promised and more. He wants to ensure I remain his 'friend and comrade' forever," he said with thinly veiled contempt. "In other words, he wants me to be his puppet."

Olena's face flushed with anger. "And after everything Martin has done for us, he never demanded anything in return!"

Alexandrovich raised a hand to stop her. "That was then. We can't predict what Martin or his allies will want in the future. Loyalty in politics is fleeting, especially when power is involved."

Olena's voice softened as she placed a hand on his. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you. But remember, our long-term interests lie in the West. That's where our roots are."

Alexandrovich's gaze turned steely. "I've made promises to the Ukrainian people, to fight corruption, clean up the market, drive reforms, and boost the economy. Even if I can't fulfill every promise, I need to make enough noise to keep the public satisfied. The economy is complex and uncertain, but fighting corruption and taking on the oligarchs, those are visible actions the people will notice."

Olena's eyes sharpened with understanding. "You're planning to start with Igor and the Privat Group, aren't you?"

He nodded, his voice firm. "Exactly. If I take them down, it'll send a message to Ukraine and the world that I'm serious about reform. It'll also create the leverage we need to secure Western support."

Olena's concern deepened. "We can't do this alone."

"We won't have to," Alexandrovich assured her. "We'll hand over the Privat Group's assets to Martin and his allies. The Americans will back us in exchange. They won't allow a group like Privat to stand in our way."

A flicker of admiration crossed Olena's face. Alexandrovich's plan was bold, even audacious. By leveraging Western powers against the very oligarchs who thought they could control him, he could secure his independence while fulfilling the promises that had gotten him elected. The Privat Group's assets would be the perfect offering to gain favor with the West and with Martin's network on their side, they might just stand a chance of toppling Igor and his empire.

That night, the couple discussed their strategy until the early hours of the morning. They both understood the risks, but also the potential rewards. Alexandrovich was determined to prove that he was not just another puppet on a string, he would be the leader Ukraine needed, no matter the cost.

At Los Angeles International Airport, a sleek private jet with a polished silver finish accented by striking red stripes touched down smoothly on a secluded runway reserved for VIPs. Waiting near the tarmac were several gleaming black Cadillacs, flanked by bodyguards dressed in tailored suits. The engines of the cars purred as they lined up, ready to whisk Martin and his entourage away.

The group disembarked with quiet efficiency, sliding into the waiting vehicles. Without a word, the convoy set off, weaving through the city streets before heading toward the exclusivity of Beverly Hills. The familiar palm-lined avenues soon gave way to the gated entrance of Martin's estate, where the group finally arrived home.

Once inside, Martin's first order of business was sleep, but not before checking in with Lily and Elizabeth. The flight had clearly taken its toll on them. After a quick shower, the two women retreated to their bedroom and fell into a deep sleep as soon as they hit the pillows, utterly drained from the journey.

Martin, however, had no such luxury. Descending the grand staircase, he found Bruce waiting in the living room, the flicker of concern in his eyes betraying that something important was on the horizon. Without exchanging pleasantries, the two men headed to the study, the click of the door signaling a private conversation was about to unfold.

Bruce wasted no time. "The election results in Ukraine are confirmed. Alexandrovich secured the presidency with an overwhelming majority," he began, his voice low and controlled.

Martin nodded, unsurprised. "As expected."

"There's more," Bruce continued, leaning in slightly. "He called about ten minutes ago. He wants to meet before he officially takes office, says it's urgent."

Martin remained silent, signaling for Bruce to continue.

"His plan," Bruce explained, "is to solidify his grip on power by launching anti-corruption campaigns and driving market reforms. He's aiming to win the favor of the military and the people. But to do that, he needs to dismantle the Privat Group, which has been a thorn in his side. He's asking if the Western world would back him in taking down this oligarchic faction, which leans heavily towards Russia."

Bruce paused for a moment, gauging Martin's reaction before adding, "If we agree to support him, he'll send Olena to Paris to meet with our contacts."

Martin's mind was already racing. He had previously discussed this exact scenario with Louise and Kelly, and both had pulled strings to quiet potential resistance from certain Ukrainian circles. Essentially, this was a power play, using Western influence to strike at the Eastern faction, a move that could shift Ukraine's balance of power away from Moscow.

After a moment of contemplation, Martin decided. "Bruce, I want you to go to Paris and handle the meeting with Olena yourself. This could be worth billions, so we can't afford any missteps."

Bruce nodded, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. "I've already scheduled the meeting. I'll fly out later this week."

With that settled, Martin turned his attention back to the bigger picture. He quickly arranged a call with Louise and Kelly, finalizing the next steps before stepping out to meet Louise for a more detailed discussion.

For the rest of the week, Martin allowed himself a rare indulgence, a break from work. He threw himself into a carefree vacation, spending time traveling with Lily and Elizabeth. They even made a spontaneous trip to Hawaii, soaking in the sun, sea, and the brief respite from the political chess games that occupied so much of Martin's life.

Meanwhile, 'John Wick 3' continued to dominate the box office back in North America. Though the film's initial explosive run had cooled after a month, it still raked in impressive numbers, with the North American total hitting $456 million. Overseas, the film faced some challenges, particularly in key markets, but had still managed to pull in $366 million globally.

Behind the scenes, negotiations were heating up. Netflix approached Davis Studio with a lucrative offer for the film's holiday on-demand rights, throwing $80 million on the table for the first year. However, they had a stipulation, the DVD release would have to be delayed for at least six months after the theatrical run ended. It was a sticking point, especially since even in the age of streaming, DVDs for blockbusters could still generate $60 to $70 million in their first year, despite the market's gradual decline since 2012.

As Martin weighed the deal, his mind was already back in strategy mode. Balancing the nuances of Hollywood's shifting landscape with the complex political maneuvers unfolding in Europe was just another day in his world. The stakes were high on both fronts, and Martin was determined to come out on top, whether it was in the glittering lights of Hollywood or the shadowy corridors of power in Kyiv.