5. Roman
ROMAN
Leo doubles his pace as I stride through the lobby, catching up with me as I get to the elevator. He shakes his head as he struggles to catch his breath.
“I need to put in more hours at the gym,” he comments while I press the button that turns green. “But between shadowing you and attending to other matters, the only time I have is between noon and two pm.”
The doors open, and I step in, waiting for them to close again before turning to him. “Twelve and two?”
He nods. “Yeah. You’re a morning person, which means I can’t be in sweaty shorts when you need me, and you’re not the kind to go straight home from the office either. Twelve to two is the least busy time of the day—according to my data—” I glance down when he looks at his watch.
“I have Sergei,” I remind him. “You can take time off if you need to.”
“You need me,” he says with a quiet snort. To prove his point, he presses the button for the top floor, before facing me with a smug look and an arched brow. See?
“What’s the update?” I ask, ignoring him.
He leans against the metal wall as the elevator rides up. “Nothing new. And believe me, I’m using every resource at my disposal. A lot of loan sharks and safe houses are out of business now.”
It’s not enough.
My patience is thin, and it’s close to snapping. I don’t want to start a war, but the longer Marco Ricci stays hidden, the less likely I am to honor certain obligations and treaties.
“Alex,” Leo comments. “What did you do to him?”
The accountant. “Took him off the list,” I say flatly.
Leo shrugs, pushing upright when the doors open. He follows, hot on my trail, as I walk to my office. “Okay. Who’s next?”
“Mr. Volkov,” Marge greets me with a polite smile.
I nod, but Leo looks at her desk with a big grin. “Marge. You look as beautiful as ever.”
He kisses her hand, earning an eye roll from her and a swat on the shoulder when he refuses to let go. I leave them, moving on.
My seat is barely warm when Leo walks in. “The list,” he reminds me. “Who’s next?”
An executive.
It took a couple of broken fingers and a bloodied nose, among other things, to get the name from Alex, but he eventually confessed. I have to admit, I was a bit impressed that he held out that long.
Two broken fingers, but I expected him to rattle from the threat alone.
“What do you have on Billie Russell?” I ask.
Leo rubs the back of his head, frowning a bit. “The former director of human resources who’s now on the executive board?”
I nod.
“The standard,” he says. In addition to being the only person I trust, Leo has an unofficial capacity in the company. A photographic memory with a large file on everyone in upper management.
“Any family?” I ask.
He purses his lips, thinking. I reach for my laptop to do a quick search, but I barely have it open when he snaps his fingers. “Yeah, an ex-wife. They split five years ago in a messy divorce. She took the house.” He laughs. Why?”
“Children?”
“Yeah. Two. Again—” He gestures. “Why?”
My jaw clenches, and my anger coils, sitting patiently in my gut. “He was the middleman between Alex and Ricci.”
Leo drags his hand over his face with a sigh. “How many now? At this point, you’re better off turning the company inside out. He used to attend dinners at your house, didn’t he?”
Yes. Another person my father stupidly trusted. At this point, I’m starting to think the man I knew…wasn’t the man he was. I learned almost everything I know from my father—he was ruthless, nearly unforgiving, and had hard boundaries.
He must’ve slipped in his older age, letting them get to him.
It doesn’t matter. Weak or not, I intend to avenge his death. One by one, everybody who played a part will pay.
Marco Ricci is the cherry on the cake.
“I need you to find out where his kids are. Have someone go there and send proof while keeping an eye on them.”
“Whatever you say,” he replies.
The door opens slightly, and Marge pokes her head through. “Didn’t want to disturb, but Billie Russell says he’d like to see you. Something about an idea for next quarter. Where do you want me to put him?”
Leo chuckles darkly. “Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear. Put him in the conference room, Marge.”
“Sure.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” he tells her as the door closes again. Then he turns to me, adding when I tilt my head in question, “I didn’t think you wanted a clean-up crew here for the second time in two days. Besides, it’s soundproof.” He stands. “I’ll make the call. Give you some room.”
I flex my knuckles as he leaves before getting to my feet. My eyes wander to the spot where Alex begged for mercy, his pitiful wails like a stain that’ll never wash out.
When he begged…he begged.
Unlike her .
The parting comment before I left was supposed to scare Isabella into staying put, but even if it frightened her, she didn’t let it show.
And last night…I thought she might’ve cowered. Or found an excuse to keep me away so she could use one last Hail Mary to reach her father.
Instead, she invited me to come along.
“You wanna go first? Or walk behind?” Her words echo in my head, teasing me. “ I’m sure you can work something out. You’re big and strong , after all.”
A starfish.
A knowing smile curls my lips. If—no, when I take Isabella to bed, she won’t just lie there. I don’t intend to show her affection or tenderness, but I’ll make her beg for more.
For my touch. For my head between her thighs and my cock inside her. Her sneers will become broken, ragged moans as she clings to me, and the only thing on her lips will be my name as I use her.
I take a deep breath, and the image of Isabella in my shirt comes to mind again.
Weak buttons. They’d snap easily under my hands, falling to the ground with ease. Her soft skin in my hands, her breasts spilling out, and her legs spread.
She’d make a pretty sight. Pretty, pink, and very fuckable. When it happens, I don’t intend to hold back.
Marge knocks again.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, pushing Isabella out of my head. Soon. I’ll have her carrying my last name and my child.
For now, I have other things to attend to.
“One last thing,” I mutter as I reach into my desk drawer. My fingers touch something cold and hard, and my smile widens as I remove it and tuck it into my waistband.
Billie hurriedly stands when I walk into the conference room. “Mr. Volkov,” he addresses me. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
“Sure,” I reply, nonplussed, taking my place at the head of the table. “You said you wanted to discuss something pertaining to the next quarter?”
His head dances as he nods, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He’s nervous. Either he knows something is coming his way, or he’s drowning in guilt.
Neither makes any difference to me. If he’s here to ask for mercy, he’ll find out that his fate would’ve been better as a fugitive.
I would’ve found him, but that’s beside the point. “Go ahead, Bille.”
“Okay.” His hands fall on his thighs, and he rubs them together. “So, you know I worked for your father. Spent twenty years working alongside him, so I know a lot about this company. I was thinking we could establish trade relations with a wider international market.”
He clears his throat and loosens his tie. “I could go,” he says with a sudden upbeat attitude. “I don’t mind breaking the ground, putting the work in. You don’t have to pay me as much as I earn here. I’ll do anything for this company.”
A low, humorless laugh rumbles from my chest. It startles him—just enough to make him shift in his seat.
“You should’ve run, Billie.”
His eyes widen. The room stretches into a thick silence, broken only by the subtle tick of the clock on the wall.
“You had your chance. You could’ve disappeared, and changed your name.
Started over somewhere far from here.” I lean forward slowly, my voice dropping to a near whisper.
“But instead, you walked right into the lion’s den, thinking you’d walk out with a promotion?
I mean…” I scoff. “I would’ve found you, but you’d have bought yourself some time. ”
He swallows hard, his smile twitching at the edges, trying to hold.
“You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” I shake my head. “Stealing from my father was the last mistake you’ll ever make.”
“Steal? Me?” he repeats, feigning shock as he presses a hand to his chest like I’ve just accused him of murder. “Why would I do that?”
I stare at him flatly. “You tell me.”
He lets out a shaky chuckle as if the idea is so absurd it’s laughable. “Your father was good to me,” he says, dragging out every word with exaggerated sincerity. “I owe him everything, Mr. Volkov. To think that I’d steal from him? Impossible.”
His eyes widen for effect, but I see right through the act.
“Then I suppose the money you embezzled for Marco Ricci happened on its own?” I say coolly, watching the twitch in his jaw.
The silence that follows is louder than anything else he’s said. “Alex gave up your name.”
His chair scrapes back, and I see his feet point toward the door. He’s getting ready to run.
Too late.
“Alex Hart is the last person you should trust, Roman,” he says, using my name as a desperate last resort. “Your father never did. I knew he was stealing, and I told him to come clean. I never thought he’d turn on me.”
I say nothing.
He’s already dug a hole. I should bury him in it, but I don’t intend on getting rid of him just yet. I look away for a second, and he bolts out of the chair.
The sound of my gun cocking stops him in his tracks. “You might want to reconsider taking another step.”
“Wh—” I smell the same fear Alex showed as he swallows thickly. “What are you doing?”
I point to his chair. “Sit.”