Chapter Three
Alexei sat behind the wide walnut desk in his office. He rested one elbow on the armrest while he drummed the other fingers of his other hand against the polished wood.
The laptop in front of him glowed with spreadsheets. It showed him columns of numbers, shipping manifests, and import invoices. Payments routed through three different shell companies before disappearing into legitimate businesses that washed the Bratva's money clean.
Normally, Alexei could find discrepancies within minutes.
That was one reason his father had trusted him with the organization's finances before his death.
Every figure told a story if someone knew where to look.
Missing funds, employees skimming profits, or even rival organizations probing for weaknesses.
Today, however, the numbers blurred together. He'd been staring at the same page for almost twenty minutes. He couldn't remember reading a single line. With an irritated sigh, he leaned back in his chair.
His office occupied the top floor of Volkov Holdings, a respectable investment company on paper and the beating heart of their Bratva operations beneath the surface.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, the morning sun glinting off steel skyscrapers that stretched toward low gray clouds.
Usually, the view helped him think. Today it only reminded him of another rooftop, an alluring pair of brown eyes, and a shot that should have killed him. Two nights had passed since someone had tried to put a bullet through his skull, and somehow he couldn’t stop thinking of her.
The mystery woman who missed on purpose. He could still remember her dark hair pulled back tightly, her sharp cheekbones, the controlled rise and fall of her chest.
He remembered she'd held herself with absolute confidence, not arrogance but discipline. The kind forged through years of relentless training.
Every movement of hers had been economical and measured. Nothing was wasted. She hadn't fidgeted once, or looked frightened. Even cornered, she'd remained calm and professional, which made what she'd done even stranger.
She'd had a clean shot, and yet she purposely missed. Even now, he kept wondering why she'd chosen not to kill him. Did they know each other in the past? That question had lodged itself inside his head like a splinter.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in,” Alexei said.
The office door opened. Dimitri stepped inside without waiting for further permission, dressed in a charcoal suit with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. His younger brother carried a folder beneath one arm and looked as though he'd already been working for hours.
"You look terrible," Dimitri observed.
Alexei snorted. "Good morning to you too,” he mumbled.
“I’ve seen corpses with more enthusiasm,” Dimitri joked.
"They're probably getting more sleep."
Dimitri crossed the room and dropped the folder onto the desk. "We've got a problem with the shipment coming through Saint Petersburg.”
Alexei automatically reached for the file. "Which shipment?"
"The electronics."
He opened the folder. Inside sat customs reports, shipping schedules, and photographs of sealed containers.
"The port authority suddenly decided they wanted another inspection,” Dimitri said.
Alexei skimmed the paperwork. "Our contact?"
“Was transferred."
"Convenient,” he muttered. Alexei closed the file. "Delay the shipment forty-eight hours."
Dimitri nodded once. "I thought you'd say that."
"If we push it through now, they'll inspect every container,” Alexei said.
"And if we wait?"
"They'll lose interest."
Dimitri smiled faintly. "You're usually right."
Usually. Alexei barely heard himself continuing. "Have Yuri reroute the paperwork through the Lithuanian office. Tell accounting to freeze payment until the cargo clears customs."
"I already have."
"Good." His responses came automatically. His mouth carried on conducting business while his mind wandered somewhere else entirely.
Dimitri studied him for a moment. "You aren't listening.”
"I am."
"What did I just say?" Dimitri demanded.
Alexei looked at him blankly, and Dimitri folded his arms.
"I said Maksim wants another security sweep of the warehouses,” Dimitri informed him.
Alexei rubbed a hand across his jaw.
"You've been somewhere else all morning,” Dimitri pointed out.
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
Alexei didn't bother denying it, because Dimitri knew him too well.
"We've already doubled security," Dimitri continued. "The men have rotated every schedule.”
Alexei nodded absentmindedly. "And?"
"And we'll find the assassin."
That finally drew Alexei's attention. He looked intently at Dimitri, and his brother misread the expression immediately.
"Maksim and I know you're pissed off about the incident,” Dimitri said.
Pissed off? Yeah right. If only it were that simple. Alexei let the silence stretch. His brothers believed the failed assassination had bruised his pride. That someone had dared target a Volkov, and so Alexei was now hunting the assassin out of vengeance.
It was the logical and expected conclusion. Instead, Alexei found he couldn't stop thinking about her and why she spared him.
"You'll get your revenge," Dimitri said.
Alexei almost laughed. The word revenge felt strangely hollow. Alexei wasn’t remotely angry, but confused and curious about the assassin? Absolutely. He decided to interrupt before Dimitri could continue.
"Has security found anything?" Alexei asked. “Potential names?”
"No names, not yet."
Alexei leaned forward slightly. "What about any evidence left behind? Potential witnesses?”
Dimitri shook his head. "Nothing useful."
Alexei frowned. "Someone must have seen her."
“One witness saw a woman leaving the area. A slender woman wearing dark clothes, but that’s about it,” Dimitri said with a shrug.
Alexei sighed. "How helpful."
"Our security team is narrowing it down,” Dimitri promised. "There aren't many contract killers operating at that level."
Alexei already knew that. Elite assassins were surprisingly rare. Precision demanded experience, patience, and money. The woman who'd taken the shot possessed all three. Whoever had hired her had spared no expense.
"We've already eliminated half the usual names," Dimitri continued. "By tomorrow we'll have a shortlist."
Alexei nodded slowly. "I want it immediately."
"You'll have it." Another brief silence settled. Dimitri tilted his head. "You know..."
"What now?” Alexei asked, wishing Dimitri would leave him alone.
"You've taken this oddly well."
Alexei raised an eyebrow. "Have I?"
"I expected broken furniture, maybe a few broken bones,” Dimitri said unhelpfully.
“You seem disappointed,” Alexei said dryly.
"A little."
Alexei smiled faintly. "I'll try harder next time."
"I'll warn the cleaners." Despite the joke, Dimitri's eyes remained thoughtful. "You sure you're all right?"
Alexei held his brother's gaze. “Absolutely.”
Dimitri collected the folder. "I'll let you know the second we identify her."
Alexei nodded. "Do that."
His brother reached the door, then paused. "Maksim wants everyone at dinner tonight. He said Lena’s been hard at work, cooking.”
"I'll be there,” Alexei said.
"No excuses."
"When have I ever made excuses?"
Dimitri gave him a long look. "I can think of several."
The office door closed behind him.
Silence returned, and Alexei stared at the laptop again. The spreadsheet remained exactly where he'd left it. His cursor blinked impatiently inside an empty cell.
He didn't move, and her face surfaced again. It wasn’t a clear image, but he remembered fragments like her calm eyes. The slight narrowing of her gaze when she'd realized he'd recognized the deliberate miss. Something about her refused to leave him alone.
It wasn't simply attraction, although he couldn't deny she intrigued him. She reminded him of a blade polished until every edge disappeared from sight while remaining lethally sharp. Even standing with a pistol pointed in his direction, she'd possessed an unsettling kind of composure.
He leaned back again, frowning. Why did she seem familiar? Alexei searched his memory. He remembered faces exceptionally well, and yet hers belonged nowhere. Was it her eyes? There'd been something hauntingly familiar about them, or perhaps the way she'd moved?
She was light on her feet despite carrying weapons, almost graceful. No, neither explanation felt right. He'd never met anyone quite like her. Alexei would have remembered, wouldn't he?
He stood and wandered toward the windows. Far below, traffic crawled through the streets like streams of colored lights. Somewhere out there, she was still alive, and occupying far too much space inside his thoughts.
****
By the time Alexei finally shut his laptop, darkness had swallowed the city beyond his office windows. The spreadsheets remained unfinished, and his emails sat unanswered.
Three meetings had come and gone, and although he'd attended every one of them, he couldn't remember half of what had been discussed. That irritated him more than he cared to admit. Distraction wasn't in his nature.
Alexei Volkov was many things. People described him as ruthless, calculating, and patient, but never careless. Today had felt dangerously close. He pinched the bridge of his nose before pushing back from his desk.
"This has to stop," he muttered to himself.
He sounded almost annoyed. Getting distracted over an assassin?
It was absurd. She was a stranger. A beautiful stranger, perhaps, but no doubt a dangerous one.
He'd met countless women over the years, models at charity galas, and even politicians' daughters.
Women connected to rival families. They were all the same in his eyes, as they only pursued him because of his name or his money.
None of them had lingered in his thoughts longer than an evening.
Yet somehow one failed assassin had managed to occupy his mind for two straight days.
It wasn't like him.