25. Nikolai
25
NIKOLAI
I sit in my office at Ivanov headquarters, my attention split between the financial reports in front of me and the feed from Sofia’s gallery on my tablet. The morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting Sofia’s graceful movements as she arranges a new collection.
“These projections don’t add up.” Dmitri’s voice cuts through my focus.
I tear my gaze from the screen. “The Chinese deal?”
“The numbers from the shipping manifests?—”
My phone buzzes. One of my security detail at the gallery sends an update—all clear, no suspicious activity. I’ve doubled the usual protection since bringing Sofia back to the city. The compound might be safer, but I can’t keep her locked away forever. Besides, the gallery is her passion.
“Nikolai?” Dmitri waves his hand in front of my face. “Are you even listening?”
“Of course.” I straighten my tie, forcing myself to concentrate on the papers before me. “Continue.”
But my eyes drift back to the tablet. Sofia’s wearing that cream silk blouse I love, the one that makes her skin glow. My security team maintains a careful perimeter—two men inside posing as customers, four outside monitoring all approaches. Not that she needs to know the full extent of her protection detail.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” Dmitri suggests, a knowing smirk on his face. “When you’re not so distracted.”
I shoot him a cold look. “I’m perfectly capable of handling both.”
“Both the meeting and watching your woman every second? Because from where I’m sitting?—”
“The shipping manifests,” I cut him off. “Show me the discrepancies.”
I focus on the numbers, but part of my mind remains in that gallery, watching over my malishka as she works, keeping her safe while maintaining the illusion of normalcy she craves. The security feed shows her smiling at a customer, and my chest tightens.
I return my focus to the financial reports as the boardroom door opens. Erik strides in, followed by Alexi, who’s already fixated on his phone.
“The Chinese numbers are off by thirty percent,” Dmitri continues. “Either someone’s skimming or?—”
“Or they’re setting us up,” Erik cuts in, dropping into the chair beside me. His face bears fresh bruises—clearly, he’s been hands-on with security training again.
Alexi doesn’t bother sitting; he just leans against the wall, fingers flying across his screen. “The digital trail’s clean. Too clean. Someone’s trying too hard to cover their tracks.”
I close the gallery feed on my tablet, though it pains me. Minutes remain before I face the board of directors, requiring the lethal focus that’s made the Ivanov name feared. This Chinese deal could expand our shipping routes significantly and increase the Ivanov family’s power or blow up in our faces.
“Show me what you found,” I tell Alexi.
He projects his screen onto the wall display, lines of code and financial data scrolling past. “See these transaction timestamps? They’re sequential. Real business operations have random patterns and delays. This is manufactured.”
“They think we’re idiots,” Erik growls.
“They think we won’t look closely enough,” I correct him, studying the numbers. The urge to check Sofia’s feed gnaws at me, but I push it aside. “Dmitri, what’s our exposure if we pull out now?”
“Minimal. We haven’t moved significant assets yet.”
“Good.” I lean back, mind already plotting counterstrategies. “Alexi, trace these transactions back to the source. Erik, I want you to put pressure on our contact in Shanghai. Dmitri?—”
The boardroom doors open as our various division heads start filing in.
I straighten my tie, cool mask sliding into place. “Let’s begin.”
I lean back in my chair, watching Dmitri command the room with his usual polished charm. He’s always been the natural choice for CEO—the perfect blend of ruthless business acumen and sophisticated public presence. While I control our empire from the shadows, my brother thrives in the spotlight.
“As you can see from the third quarter projections...” Dmitri’s voice carries clear authority as he walks our board through the presentation. His Armani suit is impeccable, and his smile is calculated to put everyone at ease while maintaining absolute control.
The division heads hang on to his every word. They should—Dmitri’s genius for legitimate business dealings has tripled our legal profits in the last five years alone. He makes our darker ventures appear pristine on paper, turning blood money into clean investments with an artist’s touch.
“We’re exploring new shipping routes through Singapore,” he continues, catching my eye briefly. I give him a slight nod. This is why our partnership works so perfectly—he knows how to package our true intentions in corporate-speak that will satisfy any authority’s scrutiny.
I check my phone discreetly, relieved to see no urgent messages from Sofia’s security detail. Dmitri’s voice perfectly captures our organization’s true nature, letting me focus on what matters—power, protection, and control.
“Any questions about the proposed expansion?” Dmitri asks the room, his ice-blue eyes scanning each face.
I scan the faces around the boardroom table. Each division head is a carefully chosen piece in our empire’s machine.
Marcus Chen runs our Pacific shipping operations, his placid expression masking the ruthlessness that’s helped him eliminate three rival cartels in the past year alone. His immaculate suit can’t hide the dragon tattoo creeping up his neck—a reminder of his Triad connections before we made him a better offer.
To his left sits Katya Petrova, her silver hair swept into a severe bun. She oversees our European art acquisitions—both legal and otherwise. Her network of forgers and thieves has proven invaluable, especially when we need certain pieces to mysteriously “appear” in our galleries. The diamond pendant at her throat was payment for arranging the disappearance of a particularly troublesome customs official.
Our head of security operations, Viktor Popov, takes notes with his scarred hands. Along with my brother Erik, the former Spetsnaz commander, Popov has transformed our enforcement division into a precise military operation. His methods are brutal but effective—he personally handles training for our more specialized personnel.
Isaac Goldman reviews the financial projections at the far end through wire-rimmed glasses. Our money laundering expert has built such complex networks of shell companies and offshore accounts that even Alexi admires his work. His legitimate banking connections provide perfect cover for moving our less legal profits.
These people understand our organization’s dual nature—the careful balance of legitimate business and criminal enterprise. Each one has proven their loyalty through blood and fire. They know the cost of betrayal, having witnessed the consequences firsthand.
Dmitri catches my eye again, a slight tilt of his head indicating it’s time to move forward with our plans. I give him an imperceptible nod, watching as he smoothly transitions into discussing our “logistics restructuring”—a pleasant euphemism for the coming war with our Chinese rivals.
“The numbers from Shanghai are concerning,” Marcus says, his usual calm demeanor slipping. “Our contacts report increased military presence around the ports.”
I lean forward, the feed from Sofia’s gallery forgotten as alarm bells ring in my mind. “Military presence? Not private security?”
“PLA Navy vessels,” Viktor confirms, sliding a folder across the table. “Three destroyers moved into position last week.”
Dmitri’s perfect composure cracks for a moment. “That’s not normal protocol for?—”
“Because it’s not protocol at all,” I cut in, scanning the surveillance photos. “Isaac, what do our banking connections say?”
Isaac adjusts his glasses. “Large fund transfers from government-controlled banks to shell companies we’ve linked to the Triads. They’re being backed by someone high up in the Party.”
“Shit,” Alexi mutters, fingers flying across his keyboard. “The encryption on these transfers is military-grade. Not their usual level.”
Katya clears her throat. “The art shipments we were planning to move through Hong Kong?—”
“Cancel them,” I order. “Reroute everything through Singapore for now.”
“The additional costs—” Marcus begins.
“Are nothing compared to losing an entire shipment,” Erik interrupts. “Or worse.”
I study the satellite images, my mind racing through contingencies. This isn’t just business anymore. The Chinese military’s involvement changes everything.
“Dmitri, how quickly can we liquidate our regional holdings?”
“Seventy-two hours, minimum. But it will raise flags.”
“Do it anyway. Viktor, I want our people out of Shanghai by tomorrow night. Alexi?—”
“Already scrubbing our digital footprint,” he confirms without looking up.
The morning sun feels colder now as I process the implications. We’re not just dealing with rival criminals anymore. This is state-level interference.
“Isaac, prepare the emergency protocols. If they’re tracing our legitimate businesses...”
“I’ll start moving everything offshore,” he nods. “Through the Nordic routes?”
“Yes. Katya, you’ll need to?—”
A sharp knock interrupts us. One of Erik’s security team enters, face grim. “Sir, we have a problem at the gallery.”
My blood runs cold as Erik’s man delivers the news. “The gallery’s been hit. Four men, professional. They took Ms. Henley.”
The room spins for a moment as rage and fear war inside me. “How?” I demand, my voice deadly quiet.
“They hit during the shift change. Smoke grenades, military precision. In and out in under two minutes.”
I pull up the security feed on my tablet, watching the scene unfold. The timing, the execution—this wasn’t random. My eyes catch a familiar tattoo on one of the attackers’ wrists as he drags my unconscious Sofia into a waiting van.
“Castellano.” The name tastes like ash in my mouth. “They found her.”
Dmitri curses in Russian. “How did they?—”
“Doesn’t matter,” I cut him off, already moving. “Erik, full tactical team. Alexi, track that van. Use everything possible—traffic cams, satellites, whatever it takes.”
“Already on it,” Alexi’s fingers fly across his keyboard. “They’re heading south on I-93.”
I check my weapon as Erik barks orders into his phone. The Castellanos have been searching for their lost heir for twenty years. Now they’ve found her—my Sofia—and think they can simply take what’s mine.
Her father’s wife doesn’t want Sofia to be found alive, which means her fate hangs in the balance.
“Sir,” Viktor steps forward. “My team spotted Mario Castellano landing at Logan International three hours ago.”
Of course. The old man himself came to collect his long-lost granddaughter. He’ll try to convince her of her true identity, turn her against me. The thought of Sofia learning everything from him instead of me tightens my chest.
“They’ll take her to their compound in Providence,” I say, already knowing their play. “It’s the only facility they have within range that’s secure enough.”
“Nikolai,” Dmitri grabs my arm. “The Chinese situation?—”
“Can wait.” I shake him off. “Everything else is secondary right now.”
Nothing else matters. Not business, not territory, not even our empire. Only getting to Sofia before they can poison her mind against me or worse. Before they take her away forever.