Chapter 2Valerian
2
Valerian
I settle back in the leather chair of my Rittenhouse Square mansion, savoring the smooth whiskey in my glass. The familiar burn slides down my throat while I contemplate the skyline I’ve been away from for months.
The crystal tumbler clinks against the mahogany desk as my phone buzzes, its screen showing with Dmitri’s name. Setting aside the thirty-year-old Dewars, I swipe to answer.
“Boss, I’ve got some intel for you.” Dmitri’s gravelly voice cuts straight to business, characteristics of my most trusted lieutenant.
“Go on.” I turn toward the window, watching a news helicopter sweep across the skyline.
“The Petrov Syndicate’s got a new leader. His name is Matvey Petrov.”
The whiskey burns pleasantly when I take another unhurried sip, letting the sweetness linger on my tongue while processing this development. “Interesting. What else?”
“He’s young and ambitious. Took over after his brother’s...” Dmitri pauses, and I can practically see the sardonic twist of his lips. “...unfortunate accident.”
I smirk. The “accident” involved a warehouse, three bullets, and a message that needed sending. The memory of that night still lingers in my mind. The rain, the gunfire, and the satisfaction of eliminating a threat to my family’s empire.
“And what does Matvey Petrov think of me?” The whiskey catches the light from the window as I swirl it, creating amber waves against the crystal.
“That’s the best part, boss.” Dmitri’s voice carries a note of satisfaction. “He has no idea you’re back in Philly. Your time overseas kept you off their radar. As far as he knows, you’re still closing deals in Moscow.”
I smile to myself. “Excellent. Let’s keep it that way for now.”
“You got it. Anything else you need?”
I pause, considering. “Set up a meeting with our contacts at the docks. I want to review our import operations.”
“Consider it done.”
The line goes dead, and I set the down phone. I stand, moving to the window. The city sprawls before me, a grid of opportunities and threats. Matvey Petrov’s ignorance of my return is an advantage I intend to exploit to the fullest.
My reflection stares back at me in the glass. Dark hair, slightly tousled from running my hand through it. Piercing blue eyes that have seen more than their fair share of violence and betrayal. The tailored suit I wear is an armor of sorts, giving a look of power and control while expertly hiding my engraved Makarov PM in its holster at my back.
I turn away from the window, already formulating plans. The Velvet Cage, my underground gambling den, will need to be prepped for my return. It’s been too long since I’ve walked those opulent halls, where the walls tell stories of fortunes won and lost.
I always win in the end.
My phone buzzes again, and I drop into my chair once more before answering. This time, it’s Alexei, my right-hand man in the legitimate side of my business empire.
“Valerian, hello. The board is getting antsy about the merger with Steele Industries. They’re pushing for a meeting.”
I suppress a sigh. The corporate world, with its endless meetings and politicking, is a necessary evil. “Schedule it for next week. I’ll need time to review the latest projections.”
“Of course, and the charity gala? ‘The Children’s Hospital’ is expecting you to make an appearance.”
“I’ll be there,” I assure him. These events are crucial for maintaining my public image as a philanthropic businessman. The irony isn’t lost on me.
The leather executive chair protests with a soft groan when I shift my weight after hanging up. I return to perusing the meticulously kept records spread across my mahogany desk. The stark black ink of Jay Bennett’s name draws my attention like a bruise on pristine paper. Next to it, the mounting figures tell a grim story. In my absence, a manager let him rack up eighty-thousand in gambling debts, plus accumulated interest. He should have cut off a loser with no prospects at fifty grand, but Bennett put up his parents’ flower shop to secure a higher credit limit.
“Sir?” my accountant, David, hovers in the doorway. “Should I proceed with the property acquisition paperwork for Bloom House?”
I tap my Mont Blanc pen against the ledger. “Not yet.”
“But, Mr. Rostova, the standard protocol?—”
“I’m well aware of our usual procedures.” The pen stops moving between my fingers. Bloom House sits on a corner lot in one of the city’s most rapidly gentrifying neighborhoods. The property value alone would more than cover Bennett’s debts. “Tell me what you know about the family.”
David adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. “The Bennett family runs it. Mainly the parents, but their daughter helps sometimes. Jay is as useless as one would expect based on his addiction. The girl is Clara, I think. A masseuse?”
“Claire,” I correct without thinking how much that reveals. What the hell. Not owing him an explanation, I add, “Keep the paperwork on hold.”
“As you wish, sir.” David retreats, leaving me alone with columns of numbers and unanswered questions.
I slide open the manila envelope, letting glossy photographs cascade across my mahogany desk. Dmitri commissioned the private investigator to ensure there were no nasty surprises before going ahead with the repossession of the flower shop, and I’ve stared at them far too many times to justify.
The sharp scent of fresh ink mingles with leather and Dewars as I arrange them in a semi-circle, creating a window into the Bennett family’s world. Street scenes, storefront captures, and intimate moments stolen through telephoto lenses.
“Claire Bennett.” The name slips from my lips as I lift one particular image. She stands outside the shop, head thrown back in uninhibited laughter at something beyond the frame. Afternoon sunlight streams between the buildings, catching her loose waves and transforming them into sheets of molten amber. The corner of her coral-painted lips curves upward, creating delicate creases around her eyes. Her simple blouse and fitted jeans speak of understated elegance, a sharp contrast to the artificial women I typically encounter.
I never did like them. Despite my wealth, I’ve always favored natural women. It’s something more honest than the synthetic world I’m from, and I hate the idea that money can buy beauty. Real beauty is a state of mind.
The photograph feels warm between my fingers when I trace its edge. “What makes you different?” I whisper, unable to tear my attention from the pure, unrestrained joy captured in that single frame. Something about her authenticity pierces the carefully constructed walls of my world. My chest tightens with an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation.
I start to set down the photo, then stop, drawn back for one more look. The fact that she affects me at all is disturbing. Yet I can’t seem to look away from that brilliant smile and those honey- flecked eyes that seem to peer straight through the glossy paper into my soul.
A sharp knock at the door breaks my reverie. I set down the photo this time while schooling my features into their usual mask of cool indifference. “Come in,” I call out, my voice carrying the authority that has become second nature.
Dmitri enters, his hulking frame filling the doorway. He’s been with me since the beginning and is one of the few men I trust implicitly.
“Boss, we’ve got a situation at the docks,” he says without preamble.
I lean forward, instantly alert. “What kind of situation?”
Dmitri’s expression darkens. “Petrov’s men were sniffing around. Looks like they’re trying to muscle in on our territory.”
I rise from my desk, adjusting my suit jacket. “Tell me everything.”
Dmitri moves to the window, his reflection merging with the city lights beyond. “They’re getting bold. Three of Petrov’s men approached our dock supervisor, Puschka, this morning. Made it clear they expect a cut of our shipments.”
“Puschka’s response?”
“He told them to go through proper channels. They didn’t like that answer.” Dmitri turns. “Left him with a broken nose and a message for you.”
My fingers brush against the Makarov PM at my back. “What message?”
“‘Blood demands blood.’ Matvey thinks you killed Ansily.”
I pour another measure of Dewars, the amber liquid catching the light. “He’s not wrong.”
“No proof though,” Dmitri points out. “Just suspicion.”
“For now.” I take a measured sip. “Have our people at the docks double security. I want eyes on every shipment.”
“Already done.” Dmitri crosses his arms. “Should we move against him now?” he asks. “Before he builds alliances or something?”
“No.” I stand, walking to the window. “Let him make the first move. Right now, he’s operating on emotion, seeking revenge for his brother. That makes him predictable.”
“And dangerous.”
“Yes.” Philadelphia spreads before me. “Have David review our legitimate business holdings. I want to know every point of intersection between our interests and the Petrovs.”
“What about the Bennett situation?” Dmitri was the one to alert me that the former manager let Bennett slip the leash.
The photograph of Claire still lies on my desk, her smile frozen in time. “Leave it for now. We have bigger concerns.”
“As you say, boss.” Dmitri moves toward the door, then pauses. “One more thing. Matvey’s been asking questions about your time in Moscow.”
I turn sharply. “What kind of questions?”
“About what really happened the night Ansily died. He’s got people digging into phone records, security footage.”
“Let him dig.” I return to my desk. “The truth is buried too deeply.” If he turns up something, I won’t bother to deny it.
Dmitri nods and exits, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering taste of whiskey. The night I killed Ansily Petrov plays through my mind—the warehouse, the rain, and three precise shots. No witnesses, no evidence. Just another tragic accident in a dangerous business unless Matvey can prove differently.
The phone on my desk buzzes. David’s voice comes through the speaker. “Sir, the latest figures from the docks show a fifteen percent decrease in revenue since last quarter.”
“Send me the full report.” I pick up Claire’s photograph again. “And David? Get me everything you can on the Rossi family’s current shipping contracts.”
“Of course, sir.” He doesn’t waste time with a parting, and the line goes dead a second later.
I move toward the minibar in my kitchen. The city lights of Philadelphia twinkle beyond the huge windows. I pour another splash of Dewars and take a small sip, savoring the amber liquid.
My thoughts are too full of Claire Bennett. I tell myself it’s just business, that collecting this debt is no different from any other, but deep down, I know better.
I return to my desk, setting down the glass with a soft clink. The ledger lies open before me, Jay Bennett’s name evidence of promises broken and debts unpaid. I trace the edge of the page, a habit I’ve developed over years of making difficult decisions.
“Dmitri,” I call out, knowing he’s never far.
The door opens a moment later, and he steps inside. “Boss?”
“I’ve changed my mind. It’s time to collect from the Bennetts,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my gut. “Bring me Claire.”
Dmitri nods, his expression neutral. “When?”
I consider for a moment. “Tomorrow. First thing.”
As Dmitri leaves to carry out my orders, I turn back to the window. The city sprawls before me. I’ve spent years building my empire, carefully maneuvering each piece into place. Yet now, faced with the prospect of meeting Claire Bennett, I feel something unfamiliar stirring within me.
Something dangerous.
I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension that’s settled there. My muscles ache from the constant vigilance required to maintain my position. I press my fingers into the knot at the base of my neck, working at it absently while I contemplate my next move.
Life’s gotten a bit stale lately, I realize. The thrill of the game has dulled, replaced by routine and predictability. Perhaps that’s why the idea of meeting Claire intrigues me so. She represents something new, an unknown variable in my carefully controlled world.
Something soft and sweet in the stiff bitterness of my reality.
Something I can sink my teeth into.
I drain the last of my whiskey, relishing the warmth that spreads through my chest. It’s time to shake things up, to remind myself and everyone else why I’m the one in control.
Returning to my desk, my gaze once again falls on the stack of photos spread across my desk, the Bennett family coming to life before me. Candid shots of their daily routines and glimpses into a world so far removed from my own. The worst darkness to have touched their lives seems to be the burden of Jay’s addiction.
I pick up the well-handled photo that’s my favorite one of Claire, studying it more closely. There’s something about her that draws me, a warmth that seems to radiate even from this frozen moment in time.
Tomorrow, I’ll meet her face to face, and the thought sends a thrill through my body…
And a bulge in my pants.