Moscow Domodedovo Airport
Ivan Vanko hefted his duffel bag—heavy with the disassembled components of his armor—and climbed the stairs into the private jet. The Gulfstream's interior was more luxury than he'd ever experienced: leather seats, polished wood trim, a fully-stocked bar that probably cost more than his entire year's salary.
The Moscow Fraternity representative who'd arranged everything nodded respectfully and departed, leaving Ivan alone with the flight crew.
Before entering the cabin fully, Ivan paused at the top of the stairs, looking back at the gray Moscow sky. Snow was forecast for tomorrow. His father would be warm in the hospital, at least. The care was good there—far better than anything they could've afforded before the Dragon Ball money.
This trip to New York had to succeed. Investment from Smith Doyle would mean resources to perfect his armor, legitimacy to challenge Stark publicly, and the means to bring his father to America.
The Vanko name would be restored. His father would see justice before he died.
Ivan stepped into the aircraft and let the steward close the door behind him.
Stark Malibu Residence - Private Gym
Tony Stark bounced on the balls of his feet, hands wrapped, moving through combinations against Happy Hogan in the boxing ring. His movements were sharper than they'd been in months—faster reflexes, better stamina, no shortness of breath.
The medical pod had done more than just cure his poisoning. His entire body felt younger, more responsive, like someone had reset his biological clock by a decade.
Happy blocked a jab, countered with a hook that Tony slipped easily. "Not bad, boss."
"I'm getting better," Tony agreed, then landed a sharp elbow to Happy's face—not hard enough to injure, but enough to sting.
"Hey!" Happy stepped back, touching his cheek. "What's that supposed to be?"
Tony grinned. "Mixed martial arts. Very trendy right now."
"That's just dirty boxing," Happy retorted. "And it's been around forever, not some new trend."
Tony ignored him, bouncing on his toes. "Come on, keep going!"
Pepper's voice cut through their sparring. "Tony! The notary is here. You need to sign the transfer documents."
Tony landed another combination on Happy's guard. "I'm busy beating up Happy."
"Tony," Pepper said with forced patience, walking into the gym in full business attire. "This needs to happen today."
The gym door opened again, and a woman entered behind Pepper—attractive, professional, carrying a leather portfolio. Tony's attention shifted immediately, his fighter's focus breaking.
Happy saw the opening and tapped Tony lightly on the head. "Lesson one: never take your eyes off your opponent."
Tony's kick came without warning—a sharp front kick to Happy's stomach that sent him stumbling backward into the ring post. Happy wheezed, genuinely winded. When had Tony gotten that much stronger?
Tony grabbed the small bell hanging from the ring corner and rang it theatrically. He pointed directly at the new arrival. "Alright, I'm done playing. What's your name, miss?"
"Natalie Rushman," she said, her voice carrying a slight accent—vaguely European, hard to place.
Tony gestured broadly. "Please, come up into the ring."
Pepper's eyes widened. "No. You are not seriously asking her to fight you."
"The notary has final say," Tony said with mock formality.
Natasha—operating under her Natalie Rushman cover—whispered to Pepper, "I'm the notary. It's fine."
Pepper looked apologetic. "I'm sorry about him. Tony can be... eccentric."
Natasha climbed into the ring with fluid grace, her business attire doing nothing to conceal an athlete's physique. Tony watched her move, analyzing her balance and muscle control. This wasn't someone who did casual gym workouts. This was a trained fighter trying to look like a legal secretary.
Interesting.
After a few seconds of mutual assessment, Tony asked, "Well?"
Natasha simply looked at him, saying nothing, her expression unreadable.
Tony turned to Happy. "You want to give her a lesson?"
Happy nodded, still rubbing his stomach. "Sure, boss."
Tony climbed out of the ring and settled onto the leather sofa beside Pepper. "She's from your legal department, right? Keep staring at her and I'll get a sexual harassment lawsuit."
He shifted topics smoothly. "By the way, now that you're CEO, I'll need a new assistant. Someone to handle my personal schedule, keep me organized, that sort of thing."
Pepper didn't look up from her phone. "I have three excellent candidates lined up. You can interview them next week."
Tony's eyes remained on Natalie in the ring. "I don't have time for interviews. I need someone now. I think she'd be perfect."
"Absolutely not," Pepper said firmly.
In the ring, Happy had adopted a teaching stance, hands up but relaxed. "You ever box before?"
"Yes," Natasha replied with a slight smile.
"What about kickboxing? Martial arts? Yoga?"
Tony called out, "How do you spell your last name, Natalie?"
"R-U-S-H-M-A-N," she answered clearly.
Tony woke the computer display built into the coffee table—one of his custom installations that turned every surface into a potential workstation. His fingers flew across the touchscreen, pulling up search engines and databases.
Pepper noticed immediately. "Are you seriously doing an internet search on her? Right now?"
"I need to know about my potential new assistant," Tony said, already scrolling through results. "Due diligence."
Natalie's cover identity populated the screen—work history, educational background, a few professional photos. Tony's eyebrows rose. "Wow. She's impressive."
He scrolled further. "Fluent in French, Italian, Russian, and Latin."
Pepper glanced at the screen. "Who speaks Latin?"
"Nobody," Tony agreed. "It's a dead language. People can read it, write it maybe, but actual conversational Latin? That's show-off territory. I like it."
He found a photo that made him pause—Natalie in more casual attire, clearly from several years ago. "Wait, was she a model? This looks like professional photography."
More results populated. Tony's expression shifted from casual interest to genuine surprise. "Hold on. She worked under Fox at... the Universal Capsule Company? Well, technically before it was called that."
His fingers moved faster, pulling up more details. "She even participated in Fox's short-selling operation against Stark Industries stock. That takes real financial acumen."
Tony looked up at Pepper, excitement clear on his face. "She's got everything I need in an assistant. Financial knowledge, multiple languages, professional experience—"
He paused, a question occurring to him. "Why'd she leave Fox? That seems like a prime position at a company about to become a major player."
Pepper consulted her own tablet, pulling up the background check results. "Family matters, apparently. She needed an extended leave, submitted her resignation to avoid holding up projects. Very professional about it."
"We ran standard background checks," Pepper added. "Everything came back clean. Why, do you think there's something suspicious?"
Tony considered. "We could check with Fox directly. Or even call Smith—he'd know if there were any problems with her work performance."
The suggestion made sense. Smith Doyle had proven trustworthy, and if Natalie had worked closely with Fox, Smith would have intel on her capabilities and reliability.
Tony pulled out his phone and dialed Smith's number.
In the ring, Natasha heard Tony calling Smith Doyle and felt her pulse quicken fractionally. But for just a fraction since she wasn't worried if Stark called either Smith or Fox for her credibility.
Happy's voice cut through her thoughts. "First rule: keep your eyes on your opponent."
He lunged forward, attempting a quick grappling move to take her down.
Natasha's body responded with muscle memory. She caught Happy's wrist, redirected his momentum, spun inside his guard, and wrapped her legs around his neck in a scissor hold. A sharp twist and Happy was on his back, her thighs compressing his carotid arteries.
Happy hit the mat with a sound like a side of beef dropping on concrete.
Tony and Pepper both jerked around at the noise.
Natasha released Happy immediately, standing and offering him a hand up with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Reflexes."
Happy lay on the mat, wheezing, staring at the ceiling. "What the hell was that?"
"Judo," Natasha said innocently. "I took some classes in college."
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