Chapter 14
AbrAM
The elevator dings, echoing through the private lobby of the top floor. I stand with my hands in my pockets, watching the doors glide open.
Right on time.
Denis steps out first. He’s dressed in a sharp suit, an eternal half-smirk on his face. Mikail follows, slightly more relaxed, eyes scanning the space with idle amusement. I don’t know if they coordinated the dark tailored suits, but they look like twins rather than brothers-in-law.
“Morning,” I say, stepping forward, clasping Denis’s hand first, then Mikail’s. “Appreciate the punctuality.”
Denis shrugs, his grip firm. “You trained us well.”
Mikail chuckles. “Anya made me set three alarms. She reminded me that your mood depends on the timeliness of our arrival.”
“She’s not wrong,” I reply, leading them toward the hallway.
They know this building, they know me. They’re the only two men I trust to have my back because they’re more than lieutenants—they’re my family. Married to my sisters, bonded by blood and beyond.
Tatiana and Anya chose well. I’ve never seen either man flinch from the work. Both understand the rules. More importantly, they understand the importance of loyalty, of family.
“Kids good?” I ask as we walk.
“Charles refuses to eat anything that isn’t shaped like a dinosaur and made of chicken,” Mikail says.
Denis snorts. “Sofia flushed a two-hundred-dollar necklace down the toilet.”
“Delightful,” I reply with a chuckle.
They laugh, the sound echoing down the hallway. We reach the conference room and I push the door open.
Jenna’s waiting for us, ready and professional. “Gentlemen,” she says brightly. “Coffee’s fresh. Please help yourselves to some pastries, fruit, and almond biscotti if you’re feeling indulgent.”
I feel heat coiling low in my gut.
Control yourself, Abram.
A throat clears beside me. I glance over to see Denis watching me watching her. He lifts an eyebrow, silent and smug.
I look away. Say nothing.
Mikail whistles low under his breath. “Looks like you’ve upgraded your hospitality, Abram.”
I nod toward her. “This is my new assistant. Jenna Ridley.”
Denis steps forward first, all easy charm. “Pleasure to meet you, Jenna. I’m Denis. This is Mikail.”
She shakes their hands, polite and poised. There’s a subtle flicker of recognition behind her eyes, and before I can speak, Denis beats me to it.
“Our wives will be thrilled to meet you.”
Jenna smiles. “I’ve met them, actually. They recommended me for the job.”
Mikail laughs. “Did they now?” There’s amusement in his tone, like an inside joke she hasn’t caught up to yet.
Jenna tilts her head, clearly confused. I watch the curiosity flicker in her gaze. The way her lips part slightly, like she’s about to ask a question but decides to hold back.
Smart girl. Observant and beautiful.
I settle into my chair at the head of the table, motioning for them to take their seats.
“Let’s get down to business,” I announce.
Jenna straightens like a string’s been pulled. “I’ll just grab my iPad.”
I shake my head. “No.”
She waits a beat, expecting an explanation.
“I’ve decided I don’t want anything written down. Not for this one. I won’t need you to sit in after all.”
“No need to produce evidence,” Denis adds with a smirk. “Makes the Feds jobs harder.”
She gives a tight nod. “Understood. Would you like me to serve the coffee before I step out?”
Mikail lifts a hand, dismissive. “We’re good, thanks.”
Jenna nods again, gives a polite smile to both men, and heads toward the door. I catch the faintest trace of her perfume as she passes—vanilla, with just a hint of coconut. Heat flickers low in my gut once again.
As the door clicks shut behind her, Denis lets out a low whistle. “She’s stunning.”
Mikail laughs. “Tatiana and Anya knew exactly what they were doing, huh?”
I raise a brow.
“Come on,” Mikail continues, smirking. “You think your sisters picked her because she’s got administrative experience?”
“She’s got plenty of experience,” I reply, smiling slightly.
That gets both of them. Denis snorts, nearly choking on his own spit.
Mikail just stares at me. “No shit?”
I don’t elaborate. I simply sit back, letting the grin linger for a second before shaking my head. “Alright, I’ve said too much.”
They laugh again, loud and full-bellied.
Once the amusement fades, I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Let’s get to business. Talk to me.”
Denis is the first to shift gears, always quicker than Mikail. “We’ve got new activity in Agosti territory. Or, what used to be Agosti territory.”
I tense. “Where?”
“South of Harmon. Couple of properties up for sale, warehouses mostly. Problem is, they’re making plays on buildings that are already paying us for protection.”
Mikail folds his arms. “And it’s not a polite takeover. We’re talking broken windows. Trashed interiors. Owners getting late-night visits.”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
“Got at least four business owners on record calling us this weekend,” Denis says. “One of them has been paying since your father ran things. They’re scared, Abram. Really scared.”
“And the cops?”
Denis rolls his eyes. “Some of the people pulling this shit probably are the cops.”
“Or paid off by the Agostis,” Mikail adds.
I exhale slowly, my jaw tight. “Maybe it’s time I sit down with Don Agosti. If he wants war over property lines, we’ll give him a lesson in why that’s a mistake.”
Denis shakes his head. “It’s not the don.”
“You sure?” I ask.
He nods. “Don Agosti hasn’t been seen in public in months. Hasn’t made a statement. Hasn’t been at any of the usual places. People are starting to whisper.”
I narrow my eyes. “What kind of whispers?”
“Lung cancer,” Denis says. “Advanced. Word is Nico’s running things. Making his move early.”
I sit back, my mind working fast. Nico Agosti. Arrogant little fucker with more money than sense. Spoiled and mean. Not someone I’d ever consider a true player.
But illness changes things. Succession changes things.
And the promise of power makes boys get greedy.
Mikail is already reading my mind. “We call a meeting?”
“Yes. But it needs to be done right. We invite both Nico and his father, otherwise that’ll read as disrespect to the don.”
“Even if the old man’s on his deathbed?” Denis asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” I reply. “As long as he’s alive, we follow the rules.”
Mikail rubs his jaw. “Agreed. Show of respect will put us in a strong position.”
“I’ll have Jenna arrange it.”
They both look at me, eyebrows raising in sync.
“You’re going to have your assistant arrange a sit-down with the Agostis?” Denis asks, skeptical.
“She’s very capable.”
Mikail chuckles. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”
Denis studies me like he’s trying to decode something I’m not saying. I hold his gaze until he finally drops it with a shrug.
“I’ll trust your instincts,” he concedes. “You’ve always had a good eye.”
A better eye than either of them realize.
I picture Jenna again. The way she stood beside the table, the little pinch of confusion on her face when I told her she didn’t need to stay, how she tilted her head like she was seconds from asking a question but too smart to interrupt.
That body.
That fucking mouth.
Yes, she’s very capable.
But she’s also something else. Something I haven’t figured out yet.
But I will.
The meeting wraps up. Mikail stretches with a grunt, then smirks. I walk them to the elevator like I always do.
As we approach the doors, Denis lowers his voice, slipping into Russian. “I’ll send the Sorella footage. You’ll want to see it. It’s worse than what we’ve heard.”
“Spliced feed?” I ask.
He nods. “Amateurs. But someone cleaned up the outside cameras. Inside’s intact.”
“Good.” I glance at Mikail. “And the Charleston?”
He sighs. “Lawyer says it’s stalled. Zoning board is dragging their feet, probably waiting for a payoff.”
“Then pay them,” I say flatly. “And tell Oleg to lean on the board chair’s brother-in-law. He runs a car lot in Henderson. Dirty financing. That’s leverage.”
Mikail raises his eyebrows. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
I offer a small smile. “You’re already on it.”
Denis chuckles. “He’s joking.”
“Am I?” I ask dryly. We all laugh.
The elevator dings softly. Mikail pauses as the doors open. “You good, Abram?”
I nod once. “Always.”
“Then tell your new assistant to stop bending over so much,” he teases. “I nearly forgot why we were here.”
I say nothing, letting the words hang as they step inside. Mikail gives me a two-fingered salute. “See you later.”
The doors slide shut, sealing them off.
Restlessness rumbles beneath my skin. Like tension strung too tight across the ribs. I tell myself it’s the Agosti problem. The territory lines. The shifting whispers about Don Agosti’s health. There’s work to be done, as always.
But that’s not what’s causing the tension. It’s her.
I return to the conference room where the remnants of the meeting remain—half-empty coffee cups, half-eaten pastries, a delicate trace of citrus and berries lingering in the air.
And then there’s the faintest scent of her perfume.
I sit, the leather groaning under my weight, and pick up my pen. I don’t write anything, I just hold it, turning it between my fingers.
I’m a careful man. Always have been. I don’t fuck employees. I don’t let my mind wander in meetings. I don’t imagine what my assistant would look like if she were in my bed.
Except I’ve done all of those things in the span of three days.
Friday night crashes into my mind like a wave I didn’t see coming. Her hands on my chest, her mouth exploring mine like it belonged to her. The way she moaned underneath me.
But the real itch in my skull is whether or not she’s connected the dots back to me yet.
Sometimes I can see it in her eyes, like she’s replaying Friday night in her head, thinking about the word I spoke in Russian against her throat, and trying—heroically—to stay professional anyway.
Sooner or later I’m going to slip, and the whole truth will land in her lap, along with everything that comes with belonging to a man like me.
The thought settles low and heavy.
I set my pen down and lean back in the chair. My gaze drifts to the door, picturing her purposeful stride, heels tapping out a rhythm that makes every man in the corridor glance up.
I’m supposed to be running a multi-billion-dollar empire.
Preparing for a potential war with the Agostis.
Instead, I’m sitting in the quiet aftermath of a meeting, wondering what color panties my assistant is wearing.
Wondering if she ever thinks of me the way I think of her—dark and obsessive—against her better judgment.
I close my eyes and see her face again, flushed and gasping, mouth parted, eyes begging for more.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
But that’s a lie and I know it.