Chapter Six - Aleksandr
I’m in the car heading home, half listening to Viktor discuss tomorrow’s meeting with the Volkov family, when the screen lights up with a security notification from the east Moscow facility.
I sit up straighter, irritation cutting through my exhaustion. “Pull over.”
Viktor glances at me. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer, already pulling up the security feed on my phone. The app connects to the facility’s surveillance system, showing me a grid of camera angles across multiple floors.
Terminal 3F-7. Third floor, server room. A place that requires specific credentials and authorization that very few people have.
I tap the camera feed and watch the footage from five minutes ago.
Someone in a cleaning uniform enters the server room. Small frame, movements careful and deliberate. They pull out a laptop from under their supplies—not standard cleaning equipment—and plug directly into the terminal.
Amateur hour. Except not entirely, because they knew which room to target, which terminal stays active, and they got past security without triggering alerts until now.
I zoom in on the figure’s face, enhanced resolution cutting through the grainy quality.
My breath stops when I realize she’s Elena Lawrence.
Of all the possible scenarios, all the ways she could have responded to her family’s collapse, this is the one she chose.
She walked directly into Bratva territory, disguised herself as cleaning staff, and broke into my facility to steal evidence of what I’m doing to her family.
Amusement cuts through my irritation like a knife. Bold. Daring. Monumentally stupid. Somehow, against all logic, impressive.
I watch her work, fingers flying across the keyboard, transferring files onto what looks like an encrypted drive. She’s focused, efficient, clearly knows what she’s looking for. Not random theft. Targeted intelligence gathering.
She did her homework. Planned this. Spent time researching my operations, identifying vulnerabilities, gathering resources she doesn’t have.
All to prove what? That I’m dismantling her family? She already knows that. Everyone knows that. The only question is whether she’s suicidal enough to think evidence will save her.
Apparently, she is.
“Change of plans,” I tell Viktor. “We’re going to the east facility.”
He doesn’t ask why. Just signals the driver and pulls out his phone, already alerting security that I’m en route.
I keep watching the footage. Elena finishes her transfer, shoves the drive into her pocket, and starts cleaning up her workspace.
Two men enter the server room—I recognize them, mid-level operations staff.
They question her. She lies, smooth and confident, spinning some story about building maintenance.
The men buy it. Or one of them does, convincing the other to let it go.
She’s good at this. Better than she should be. The lying, the composure under pressure, the ability to think fast when cornered.
I wonder what else she’s good at when cornered.
The thought settles low in my gut, darker than curiosity.
“How long?” I ask the driver.
“Fifteen minutes, sir.”
Too long. She’ll be gone by then, disappeared back into whatever hole she crawled out of, taking stolen data and misplaced courage with her.
Then I see her pause in the corridor, head turning toward something off-screen. Her posture changes—shoulders tensing, hand tightening on the cleaning cart.
She knows something is wrong.
I watch her move faster, abandoning the pretense of casual cleaning. She’s heading for the service elevator, almost running now.
Smart girl. Too late, but smart.
We arrive at the facility at 12:07 a.m. The building is on high alert, security doubled at every entrance, employees being questioned about unusual activity.
I walk in through the main entrance, Viktor and four guards flanking me. People straighten immediately, conversations cutting off mid-sentence, everyone suddenly very aware of their posture and positioning.
This is what power looks like. Not shouting or threats. Just presence that bends everything around it.
“Third floor,” I tell Viktor. “Server corridor.”
We take the elevator up. I’m calm, controlled, but anticipation hums beneath my skin. She’s still in the building. Security confirmed it thirty seconds ago. Trapped between floors while we lock down exits.
She walked into my territory. My building. Stole my data.
Now I get to collect what she owes me.
The elevator doors open onto chaos barely contained. Employees are pressed against walls to stay out of the way, everyone watching and waiting for orders.
There, twenty meters down the corridor, pushing a cleaning cart like her life depends on maintaining cover—
Elena Lawrence.
She hasn’t seen me yet. Hasn’t realized the atmosphere changed because I’m here. She’s focused on the service elevator at the end of the hall, moving fast but not quite running.
Almost there. Almost free.
I let her get within fifteen meters before I speak.
“Stop.”
The single word freezes everyone in the corridor. Including her.
She stops pushing the cart but doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t react. Just stands there, rigid with tension I can see from here.
Smart. She’s hoping I’m talking to someone else. Hoping she can still slip away unnoticed.
“You. Cleaning staff. Turn around.”
I move forward as I speak, closing the distance with measured steps. My guards fan out behind me, blocking escape routes, creating a perimeter she can’t cross.
She turns around slowly.
The moment our eyes meet, I see it. The exact instant she realizes how badly she’s miscalculated. The flash of recognition, the fear that follows, the defiance that refuses to die even when it should.
God, she’s beautiful when she’s terrified.
“Elena Lawrence,” I say, testing her name on my tongue. “What an unexpected surprise.”
I watch the decision play across her face. Run or stay. Fight or surrender. Die quickly or draw it out.
She chooses pride over survival. “Mr. Sharov. I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”
Playing it casual. Like we’re meeting at a social event instead of her breaking into my facility. The audacity would be funny if it wasn’t so insulting.
“Clearly.” I move closer, slow and deliberate. Each step calculated to tighten the noose without rushing. “The cleaning service sent you, at midnight, to a restricted facility?”
“Building management—”
“Don’t.” I let the command crack through the air between us. “Don’t insult us both with lies we know are lies.”
I’m close enough now to see details. The way her pulse jumps in her throat. The slight tremor in her hands she’s trying to hide. The defiance burning in her eyes despite the fear.
She’s wearing a cleaning uniform two sizes too large, dark hair pulled back, minimal makeup. Trying to disappear into anonymity. It doesn’t work. I would recognize her anywhere now—the set of her jaw, the way she holds herself, the intelligence that shows in every micro-expression.
“What are you doing here, Elena?”
The question is softer than it should be. Almost kind. I’m curious what lie she’ll choose, how she’ll try to explain the inexplicable.
She hesitates. Calculates. Realizes lying will only make this worse.
“Research,” she says finally. “For a story I’m working on.”
“A story.”
“Investigative journalism. Looking into corporate malfeasance, shell companies, that sort of thing.”
The lie is better than I expected. Almost believable, if I didn’t already know exactly what she stole and why.
“You thought breaking into a private facility, accessing secured terminals, and stealing proprietary data was the best approach to journalism?”
“I prefer thorough research.”
“Thorough.”
I’m directly in front of her now, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough that I can smell her perfume underneath the cleaning chemical smell—something subtle and expensive that doesn’t match her disguise.
“Is that what you call corporate espionage?”
“I call it exposing criminal activity.”
The words hit like a slap. Bold, stupid, suicidal. Accusing me of crimes in my own building, surrounded by my men, with stolen evidence in her pocket.
I should be angry. Should feel threatened or offended or ready to end this conversation permanently.
Instead, I’m fascinated.
“Criminal activity,” I repeat softly. “In my building. Using my systems. That’s a bold accusation from someone currently committing multiple felonies.”
“I’m not—”
“Breaking and entering. Identity fraud. Corporate espionage. Theft of proprietary information.” I count them off, watching her face pale with each charge. “Should I continue or have you understood your situation?”
Her breath comes faster now. Fear breaking through composure. Her chin stays lifted, her gaze never dropping.
She’s terrified and she won’t surrender.
God, I want to break that defiance. Want to watch it crack under pressure, see what’s underneath when pride finally fails.
“What happens now?” she asks.
“Now?” I tilt my head, studying her. “Now you come with me. We’ll have a conversation about what you found, who you planned to share it with, and exactly how you thought this would end.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then my men will carry you. Either way, you’re coming.”
It’s not a threat. It’s inevitability. She walked into my world and now she lives by my rules.
I watch her process this. Watch her look past me at the guards, consider the odds, recognize the impossibility. Watch her look at the elevator, still fifteen meters away, might as well be on another continent.
Watch her look back at me and understand exactly how trapped she is.
“Your choice, Elena,” I say quietly. “Walk with me voluntarily, or be carried. But you’re not leaving this building without answering my questions.”
Her hands clench into fists. Hiding the tremor. Refusing to show weakness even though we both know she’s already lost.
“I’ll walk.”
Smart girl.
“Good.” I gesture toward the executive hallway. “This way.”
She moves forward because there’s no other choice. I fall into step beside her, close enough that our arms almost brush[2]. My guards follow at a distance, giving us privacy while maintaining control.
She’s breathing too fast. Pulse jumping in her throat. Every muscle tense, ready to bolt even though there’s nowhere to run.
I lean closer, just enough that my voice reaches her alone. “Did you really think this would work? That you could walk into my territory, steal my data, and disappear without consequences?”
“I thought it was worth trying.”
“Why?”
“You’re destroying my family. Because someone needs to stop you.”
The honesty surprises me. No games, no deflection. Just raw truth.
“So you thought you’d be the one to stop me,” I say. “Little Elena Lawrence, playing vigilante against the Bratva.”
“Someone has to.”
“No one has to. That’s the point. Your father made his choices, and now he lives with the consequences. You could have walked away. Could have let this play out without putting yourself at risk.”
“They’re my family.”
“The family that barely acknowledges you exist?” I watch her flinch. “Yes, I know about that. The bastard daughter, always trying to prove she belongs. Is that what this was? Proof that you’re worthy?”
“Fuck you.”
The curse comes out raw and furious. No composure left, just anger.
I smile. “There it is. The real Elena Lawrence.”
We reach the conference room I’ve designated for this conversation. I open the door and gesture for her to enter. She hesitates at the threshold, clearly understanding that crossing it changes something.
“Go on,” I prompt. “Unless you’d prefer my men escort you.”
She walks in. I follow, closing the door behind us, cutting off the outside world.
The room is designed for intimidation—long table, leather chairs, windows overlooking the city from three stories up. No warmth. No comfort. Just cold efficiency.
“Sit,” I tell her.
She doesn’t. Just stands there, arms crossed, trying to take up space in a room designed to make people feel small.
I circle around her slowly, studying her from every angle. The ill-fitting uniform, the stolen credentials hanging from her neck, the determination in her posture despite the fear.
She’s in so far over her head she can’t even see the surface anymore.
“The drive,” I say finally. “Hand it over.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“No.” She meets my eyes. “That’s evidence. Proof of what you’re doing. I’m not giving it to you.”
I stop circling and stand directly in front of her. Close enough that she has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.
“You think you have leverage here? You think that drive gives you power?”
“I think it gives me options.”
“Your only option is cooperation. The degree of pain involved is up to you.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m explaining reality.” I reach out slowly, deliberately, and grip her chin. Force her to hold my gaze. “You broke into my facility. Stole my property. Put yourself completely at my mercy. The smart play is surrender.”
Her pulse jumps under my fingers. Fear and something else, something that makes her pupils dilate despite the terror.
“I won’t give you the drive,” she whispers.
“Then I’ll take it.”
She bolts.
The moment she’s through the door, I watch her sprint down the corridor, fast and desperate. Guards move to intercept, but I wave them back. Not yet. Let her think she has a chance.
She reaches the stairwell, throws herself down the steps. I track her on my phone, watching her progress through the building security system. Third floor to second. Second to first.
She’s fast. Determined. Almost makes it to the side exit before Viktor’s team closes in.
I watch the footage as they corner her near the loading dock. Watch her try to fight, shoving past one guard, almost slipping through. Watch them catch her anyway, gentle but inexorable, hands closing around her arms.
“Bring her to me,” I say into my earpiece, calm and unhurried. “Alive.”