Chapter 11
ASTRID
Isit at the corner table in Yuri’s office, fingers moving over my laptop keyboard, eyes skimming columns of figures that should make sense but refuse to stick.
The numbers aren’t confusing me. He is.
The disbursement audit sits half-highlighted on my screen.
He’s at his desk, head down, posture perfect.
Every so often he shifts a file from one stack to another, or types something with those long, elegant fingers—God help me—I still remember tracing down my spine.
But he doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak unless it’s to hand me another batch of reports or issue a brief, clipped directive.
He could’ve easily told me to work from my assigned office like everyone else. But no, I’m in here. With him. Why can’t I work in my own office. Is this about supervision? Or is it something else? Control, perhaps?
The silence between us is its own language—one I can’t quite decipher. I feel like I’m back in high school calculus, staring at a complex equation where something isn’t balancing. The variables keep shifting. And the answer keeps coming up wrong.
I reach for my coffee cup, almost empty and lukewarm and venture a glance over at him.
Yuri hasn’t moved from his seat once in the last couple of hours.
He looks like he’s carved out of ice—cool, elegant, untouchable.
The man who brought me to orgasm in a locked airplane bathroom almost two months ago is gone, replaced by this immaculately dressed executive with a tie as sharp as a blade.
I remember the way he touched me, like he already knew my body, like he’d dreamed me into existence before I entered his life and he’d finally gotten his hands on me in the flesh.
Now, he barely blinks in my direction.
My stomach twists, not from nausea though that’s never far lately. It’s this unraveling sensation. The way he acts like that encounter on the plane never happened.
He looks up suddenly, and I drop my eyes too fast. I go back to the spreadsheet and try to focus. I highlight vendor line 347. Missing reconciliation note. Possible duplication of payment authorization.
“You’ll want to look at the Q2 approval timestamp,” he says.
I nod stiffly. “Already flagged it.”
He hums low in his throat. That’s it. No praise. No smile. Just that sound, like approval’s too costly to give out freely.
I swallow my irritation and return to the report. If he wants cold professionalism, fine. I’ll out-professional him into next week.
Still, I can’t help myself. I peek at him again, as inconspicuously as possible. His jaw is tight, eyes narrowed at whatever file he’s reviewing. He’s completely unreadable.
I have no idea what his game is. Why me? Why this job? Is it about my parents? Or is it something else entirely?
The door opens.
Lev Ivanov enters like a wrecking ball—massive and broad-shouldered, with a jaw that looks like it’s seen more fists than smiles. He doesn’t glance at me. Doesn’t have to. I can feel the shift in the room’s gravity the moment he steps in.
Right behind him is Alexei—taller, leaner, but no less dangerous. I’d met him earlier today. Where Lev is brute force, Alexei is precision.
Yuri doesn’t look up from his laptop. He simply gestures with his chin to the seating area near the far window. “Close the door.”
Alexei shuts it behind him with a muted click.
To my surprise, they don’t tell me to leave.
I keep my eyes on my screen, fingers hovering over the track pad like I’m not cataloging every glance, every word. Let them underestimate me. It’ll work to my advantage in the long run.
Lev’s voice cuts through the silence. “Spalding wasn’t just sniffing around. He’s preparing for something. This is about more than just spooking us.”
Alexei drops into the armchair across from Yuri. “Felt like a pressure check to me.”
Yuri nods once, finally looking up. “He’s not just here for oversight anymore. Someone’s feeding him intel, giving him something to work with.”
My heart skips. Spalding. Intel. Feeding.
Lev leans forward, his voice dropping. “Christian De la Rosa.”
Yuri’s expression doesn’t change, but Alexei snorts softly. “He’s back?”
Lev nods. “Been hearing reports of him being sighted in the city.”
Alexei shakes his head, his tone full of disdain. “De la Rosa wouldn’t talk to the Feds.”
“You kidding?” Lev asks. “That dishonorable prick would do anything to save his own skin.”
My fingers still. De la Rosa. I’ve seen that name. In my notes. In the Devereaux files. In the police reports that never quite made sense.
Christian De la Rosa. Cartel leader, arms broker, information runner, one-time associate of my father… and the last person seen with him before he died.
I focus on the spreadsheet again, but it’s nothing but a blur of cells and color coding at this point. The blood’s rushing in my ears now.
“Spalding’s poking around Devereaux again,” Lev adds, and I resist the urge to flinch.
Devereaux? What the hell is going on? Do they know who I really am? Do they want me to overhear this? Is that why they didn’t kick me out of the office?
Alexei leans back. “What for? That case is colder than Siberia in February.”
“Still stinks,” Yuri says. “Too many loose ends.”
Alexei grunts. “Like the girl your old man kept tabs on. What was her name, the one from Sorbonne?”
My breath catches. My mother. He’s talking about my mother.
Yuri’s gaze lifts long enough to meet mine. There’s no surprise on his face.
I push my chair back slowly, rising with a calm I don’t feel. “I’m going to grab some more coffee,” I say, careful to keep my tone even.
No one stops me. Not even Yuri. Hell, no one even says a word. But I feel their eyes on me as I walk out—fast.
I don’t even know where I’m going until I bypass the break room entirely and push through the door to the private balcony.
The second I step outside, the city greets me in all its steel-and-smog glory.
Wind whips my hair across my cheek, the noise of traffic thirty stories below a low, distant hum.
I brace both hands on the railing, trying to steady the buzz in my head.
The air is sharp and bracing. It helps but it doesn’t fix anything.
Christian De la Rosa.
Sorbonne girl.
My mother.
And Yuri, just sitting there looking at me.
I replay the conversation in my head. The tone. The tension. None of them sounded like cold-blooded, sociopathic murderers. No one gave off that slippery, post-crime panic vibe. They sounded like problem-solvers.
Like men cleaning up a mess they didn’t create but felt obligated to handle.
Which is worse, really. Because what if they truly believe they’re the good guys? What if, in their twisted world, my parents were collateral damage? Nothing more than an unfortunate loss in a ledger full of blood and favors?
I rest one hand on my belly, the other still clinging to the cool metal railing.
The baby is real, growing. A truth I can’t undo. But Yuri doesn’t know yet. Nobody does. And until I know what really happened to my parents—how deep the Ivanovs are involved—I can’t risk telling him.
He might be the father of my child, but that doesn’t mean I trust him.
Yet for some reason, I want to. And that might be the scariest part of all.
After one last look at the city, I leave the balcony and walk back slower than I left. Each step down the hallway feels measured, deliberate. My pulse has calmed but my mind hasn’t. It’s racing ahead, strategizing.
Just before reaching Yuri’s office, I pause. The wall of glass between the hallway and his suite offers an unobstructed view of what I’m walking into.
Lev is pacing like a bull, his jaw clenched. Alexei leans against the wall casually, his arms crossed. Yuri sits at his desk. Calm and impassive. But I see the rigidity in his spine, the press of his fingers against his temples.
Lev’s voice is muffled through the glass, but as I approach the last sentence is clear: “Keep an eye on everyone.”
They leave as I walk in. Neither Lev nor Alexei gives me a single glance as they barrel past me.
My gaze locks on Yuri’s just before I open the door. I return to my seat silently, opening my laptop again. I try to play it cool, but I know something’s shifted.
He’s watching me. And maybe it’s time I start watching him just as closely.
“Welcome back,” he says. “Shall we begin again?”