CHAPTER 17
MAISY
I never wanted power. Being born a Slavinovich has cursed both my life and my sister’s.
People like Milan, and everyone else, exploited it.
Trauma, tragedy, and turmoil, that’s what power is in my world.
That’s the reason I chose to live a quiet life with my men and my children.
And up until now, my life with my family has made me happy.
Even setting up the club felt good because I was contributing in a subtle, indirect way.
But this man, Viktor, he’s forcing me down a one-way street.
In a direction I’ve been avoiding for quite some time.
Viktor thinks he can take what’s mine. What was laid to rest thanks to the Cartes, Vitalis, and Delgados.
He thinks he can kill me, and my children too—and somewhere in between, hurt my men.
The thought brings a bitter smile to my face.
He has no idea what I’m capable of. I wouldn’t necessarily have this bravado if it was only my life at stake.
But going after my children, and my men?
My body comes alive with the need for retaliation—it feels as if a demon inside me just woke up.
Like that Slav blood inside me started to boil.
Today, my office feels like a prison—the walls are closing in on me more than usual. I know it’s in my head, but I still hate it.
Logan managed to get me a secure communication channel, and starting today, I should be meeting my girlfriends online for the next five days.
My laptop chimes as the first participant enters my Zoom call.
“Hello, Maisy!” Georgina’s face fills my screen, her perfect white teeth bared in an amazing smile. This woman could sell million-dollar properties on her worst day. “How are you holding up?”
I smile back. “I’m good, thanks. You?”
“Still feeling awful for caving, honestly.”
“Oh, stop it,” I say, waving it off. “Anyone would’ve done the same, especially knowing how crude and ruthless Orion, Logan, and Kai can be.”
Before Georgina can respond, the screen splits—Angelina joins the call.
“Maisy.” She nods at me, then at Georgina. “Good to see you both.”
Celina pops in next, her cropped hair visible even in the small Zoom window. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, adjusting her camera. “Lost track of time at the dojo.”
The final box fills with Gizelle’s face, her chandelier earrings catching the light as she settles in her chair. She always wears fancy jewelry straight from Italy. “Ciao tutti.”
“Thanks for joining today,” I begin. “Leila and Sasha won’t be joining us. They’re here at the house, helping me with a few things. And honestly, I wanted to keep this call smaller. What I need to discuss is sensitive.”
Celina leans forward. “Is everything okay?”
“I was wondering why you wanted to meet via Zoom,” Gizelle says, sounding concerned.
“Well, for starters, I won’t be able to leave my house for the next five days. For security reasons.”
“What? They can’t do that to you!” Georgina snaps. She and Gizelle wear the same expression—stunned disbelief. Of course, Angelina and Celina are fully aware of what’s happening.
“It’s okay, Georgina. I agreed to it. And it’s fine.”
“What’s happening in five days?” Gizelle asks.
“The Mafia Council is meeting to decide if Viktor will be given the Slavs’ quarter of New York.”
“Do you think there’s a chance he’ll get it?” Angelina asks.
“That’s what I want your help with. We found out that Viktor’s been smuggling people. In shipping containers.” The words taste bitter in my mouth. “And we know how the mafia feels about human trafficking.”
The faces on my screen harden.
“I know about one shipment so far,” I continue. “But I need evidence. Hard evidence that ties him directly to the operation. Documents, manifests, financial trails, surveillance footage—anything that proves he’s responsible.”
Gizelle is already typing something on her phone. “My cousins have connections at the Port Authority of New York. If any containers arrived there…”
“I can check the real estate angle,” Georgina says. “Storage facilities, warehouse purchases. I have access to property records that aren’t public yet.”
Celina nods. “I train with two police officers. They owe me favors.”
“My sister-in-law might know something,” Angelina says quietly. “She works for the FBI and they hear things, especially about newcomers trying to establish territory.”
“I need this to stick,” I say firmly. “How we handle Viktor…it sets the stage for everything that comes next.”
Gizelle’s still typing furiously. “I’m already accessing shipping manifests through my import contacts. Cross-referencing with customs declarations.”
“Angelina, can you get CCTV footage from the docks?” I ask.
She nods. “I have a contact in security. I’ll call him right after this.”
“I need physical evidence delivered here,” I tell them. “Nothing digital that can be traced back to any of you.”
“I’ll coordinate the couriers,” Georgina offers. “I have real estate clients coming and going all the time. No one will notice a few extra messengers.”
My mind is already racing ahead, anticipating problems. “Be careful,” I warn them.
“Maisy?” Angelina’s voice pulls me back. “We’ve got this. Really.”
I nod, grateful and guilty both at once that they would put themselves at risk. “Thank you.”
“Already found something,” Gizelle interjects, eyes fixed on something off-screen. “A container that arrived three days ago. Manifested as furniture from North Macedonia, but the weight was off by about 1,500 pounds.”
“Bingo,” I whisper.
“The receiver is listed as Mrozovski Imports,” she continues, “but I’m looking at customs forms with a different company name. Documentation doesn’t match.”
“That’s a start.”
Celina’s face is grim. “My police contacts can pull arrest records for trafficking suspects. See if any of them included Viktor before they mysteriously went silent.”
“Or disappeared entirely,” Georgina adds.
I sigh. “I got five days to build a case against Viktor.”
“I’ll start compiling what we find,” Angelina says. “Create a physical dossier with copies of everything.”
“Perfect.” I nod. “So, same time tomorrow?”
They all agree, and one by one, their faces disappear from my screen, leaving me alone in my home office once more.
I rest my hands on my desk, feeling the cool wood beneath my palms, anchoring myself to something solid while my mind races.
Viktor Mrozovski doesn’t understand what I am. What I’ve survived.