4. Forge
FOUR
FORGE
I'm losing my objectivity.
It's been six days since Inessa moved into the house.
Six nights of sitting at her kitchen table, going through Volkov's financials, building the case that could end a three-year war.
Six nights of watching her work with the focus of a surgeon, never flinching at what she finds, never looking away from her father's sins.
She takes apart his empire the way a mechanic takes apart an engine, piece by piece, methodical, understanding how each component connects to the next.
She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't grieve. She works.
And six nights of being aware of every single thing about her.
The way she pushes her hair back when she's concentrating, always the left side, always with her ring finger.
The way she drinks her coffee - black, both hands on the cup, always, like she's drawing warmth from it even in the Louisiana heat.
The tiny scar on her collarbone that I keep wondering about and don't ask about because the answer will probably make me want to kill someone.
The sound of her laugh, which I've heard exactly once and can't stop thinking about that came from deep in her chest and transformed her face from controlled to alive.
Night four, she actually fell asleep at the table.
Her face in sleep was different, younger, softer, the tension around her eyes gone.
I watched her for thirty seconds before I caught myself.
Thirty seconds of watching a sleeping woman is thirty seconds too many for a man who needs to maintain operational distance.
I put a blanket over her shoulders and I left. On the ride home, I took the long way, River Road to Nicholson, past the chemical plants, the river black and massive on my left and I told myself that the tightness in my chest was concern for an asset, not attraction to a woman.
I'm a bad liar. Even to myself.
I'm sitting in the chapel at 6 AM, alone, trying to get my head straight before church.
The gavel sits on the table in front of me.
Eight years ago, I killed a man named Tommy Delacruz in the Pit.
Bare knuckle, no time limit, winner takes the purse.
Tommy went down in the sixth round and didn't get up.
Brain bleed. Dead before the ambulance arrived.
I retired from fighting the same night. I took the gavel two years later because the club needed someone steady, someone who wouldn't let rage drive the decisions. The brothers called me Forge because I'm the one who shapes things, strategy, plans, the club's direction.
I don't bend. I don't break. I don't lose focus.
But Inessa Volkov is making me lose focus.
The chapel door opens. Knox walks in with two cups of coffee and a look on his face that tells me he's about to say something I don't want to hear.
"Vetted your girl," he says, setting a cup in front of me.
"She's not my girl."
"Sure, Prez." He drops into a chair and stretches his legs out.
Knox is built like a middleweight, lean, fast, and always moving.
He's got the kind of face that people trust right before he takes their money at the card table.
"Inessa Volkov. Born in Houston, raised in the bratva family at the Volkov residence on Memorial Drive. Private schools. Started a business degree at Rice but dropped out at twenty. No arrest record, no social media presence. She’s basically a ghost."
"The exit fund?"
"Confirmed. My guy in the Caymans found the account. $340K, opened three years ago, deposits consistent with what she described, small amounts, regular intervals. She wasn't lying about the skimming."
"And the accountant?"
"Viktor brought in a new forensic accountant four months ago. Guy named Petrov, he’s very thorough apparently. It's only a matter of time before he finds the discrepancy."
I process this. The timeline matches what Inessa told me. She's not lying, at least not about the immediate threat.
"What about the Galveston story?" I ask.
Knox's expression shifts. He leans forward, elbows on knees.
"I didn't find anything specific about that guy.
But Viktor has a history of using family members to seal deals.
His sister married a Kyiv arms dealer in 2009.
His nephew was sent to Moscow for three years as a 'liaison.
' Inessa's been photographed at private events with at least four different bratva connected businessmen between 2020 and 2024. "
“What do you mean?"
“Being used like arm candy."
The coffee in my hand is going cold. I set it down.
"She's telling the truth," I say.
"Looks like it. Which means Viktor Volkov has been using his daughter as a honey trap for a good few years, and she's been quietly robbing him blind for three." Knox shakes his head. "That takes steel, Forge. That takes more nerve than most men I know."
I know. I know it every time I sit across from her and watch her take apart her father's empire with steady hands and calm eyes and not a single moment of self-pity.
"There's something else," Knox says. "Dmitri Volkov. Viktor's enforcer. Word is he's been making calls. Reaching out to local connects, asking about us. If Inessa's timeline is right, we've got about eight days before he shows up and things get nasty."
"Then we work faster."
"Or we let her go. Send her to the feds. Let them handle Viktor."
I stand up. Walk to the window. The parking lot outside is empty except for my Road King and Knox's Sportster.
"She came to us," I say. "She chose us over the feds, over running, over every other option. She put her life in our hands. I'm not passing that off."
"Because it's strategically sound?" Knox asks from behind me. "Or because of something else?"
I don't answer. Because the truth is both, and I'm not ready to say the second part out loud.
"Church at nine," I say. "Full table. I'm telling the brothers about Volkov."
Knox stands. At the door, he pauses. "For what it's worth, I do think she's the real deal. And I think you already know that."
He leaves. I stand at the window and watch the sunrise and think about the woman sitting in that house who has captured my attention in a way I never intended.
I think about the way her hand felt on mine.
I think about the fact that in six days, she hasn't asked me for a single thing she doesn't need. Hasn't played the victim, hasn't tried to seduce me the way her father probably told her to, and hasn't used her beauty as leverage even though we both know she could.
I've run the Wild Savages for six years. In that time, women have wanted me for the patch, for the power, for the danger. Nobody has ever wanted me for any other reason.
But something is simmering and I don’t feel like fighting it anymore.