Chapter 4
Viktor
For the first time in my life, I didn't want a one-night stand to leave.
If only Anya had come a little later.
The thought crept in unbidden as I walked into my study.
Strange. I'd had plenty of women in my bed. Never noticed much difference between them. But this girl—she was different.
She fit me perfectly. That body, soft and full, those heavy breasts filling my palms with exactly the weight I craved.
If she hadn't been Anya's friend, I'd have gladly gone another round.
Shame.
At seven-twenty sharp, three knocks echoed through the study. Even spacing, controlled force—Jack's signature.
"Come in."
The door opened. Jack entered with his files. My second-in-command. The one man who'd stuck around longest.
His eyes held something different today. Not the usual mockery.
Jack dropped into the leather chair across from my desk, arms crossed, studying me with open curiosity.
"You're looking pleased with yourself this morning." A pause. That knowing smile. "So the rumors are true."
"Gossip spreads through this house faster than plague. Time to remind them what happens when they talk."
I sipped my coffee, expression flat.
"Good luck with that." Jack spread his hands, leaning back. "You could put a gun to their heads, and they'd still tell all of Los Angeles about this show."
He paused. The smile vanished. He leaned forward, voice dropping.
"But that's Anya's friend. She practically tore the manor apart last night looking for that Hazel girl." Disbelief colored his tone. "Up all night searching. Then what happens? The girl's got balls enough to walk straight into the forbidden wing and climb into your bed."
I opened the file, scanning. Nothing urgent. But Jack mentioning the girl's name—that rang a bell.
Hazel.
Anya had brought up that name more than once at dinner. Said Hazel was some poor girl living in a trailer, but genuinely sweet. Rare to find.
She'd even hinted around about getting her a position at the company.
Turned out Anya's judgment was shit when it came to her so-called best friend.
"Definitely a bold one." I gave him that much. "She broke into the forbidden wing twice. I pulled a gun on her the first time."
"Really?" Jack's eyebrow shot up, intrigued.
"Scared the hell out of her," I recalled last night. "Shaking all over, teeth chattering. The fear was real. I'm sure of it."
"But she came back anyway." Jack finished the thought.
Thinking about her second visit sent heat pooling low in my gut.
"Second time, she walked straight into my room. Right in front of me, she unzipped that dress and stripped down to nothing."
"Girls these days will do anything to climb the ladder," Jack smirked. "So what'd you do about it?"
"Nothing." I pulled a few pages from the file, setting them aside. "The girl's got history with Anya—let them handle their own drama. I don't have time for high school bullshit."
Truth was, I never wasted time on these girls who threw themselves at me.
"You done? Then let's get to work."
Jack dropped the banter. He pulled out a thick stack of documents from his briefcase, tossed them on my desk along with several high-res photos.
"Latest intel on Marco. Moretti family's second-in-command."
I walked back to the desk, picked up the top photo. Marco with a cigar clamped between his teeth, exiting some seedy nightclub, flanked by two muscle-bound guards.
"Bastard's getting bolder." Jack pointed to the map in the file. "He's taken over the Long Beach shipping yard laundering operation. Now he's trying to poach our dealers with double profits. I say we take him out. Soon."
I had no argument with Jack's assessment. This level of arrogance was a direct challenge.
"Where's he hiding?"
"High-security safe house near Santa Monica Beach." Jack's response came quick. "Heavy protection. Full assault would cost us too many men."
He flipped to another page, tapped a line of text.
"But our informant gave us something valuable." Murder edged his voice. "Marco visits his mistress at an underground casino downtown. Irregular schedule. That's our window."
Jack launched into the details of the hit—every step, every contingency. Like always, long-winded, packed with unnecessary shit.
I sat there, eyes on the documents, mind somewhere else entirely.
Hazel's breathy moans echoed in my head. The feel of her skin, explosive. Those breasts practically custom-made for my hands. Just thinking about them made my throat dry.
But more than the hot memories from last night, I kept seeing this morning. Her hair tangled across her cheeks, tears pooling in her eyes, lashes trembling.
When Anya tore into her, she looked at me. Helpless. Like she expected me to protect her.
Then after I told the truth, she just—crumbled.
Unexpected. That I'd care this much. I knew exactly what kind of woman she was.
She'd climbed into my bed for one reason—money, protection, leverage over Anya.
Classic move for girls from the gutter.
Telling Anya the truth was just her paying the price for her greed.
So why the hell did I feel so goddamn irritated?
Fuck. I yanked at my tie, loosened it, shifted in my chair.
"Viktor?" Jack stopped mid-report, confusion crossing his face. "What do you think about positioning two snipers at the third intersection for cover? Clear sightlines there—"
I stood, grabbed the stack of files, and shoved them back in the drawer.
"Wait till I get back."
"What?" Jack stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
I offered no explanation. Just strode past the desk straight for the door.
Maybe I shouldn't have left her to face Anya's fury alone. That girl never knew when to quit once she got going.
I should be more understanding. A poor girl grabbing at a chance to change her circumstances—not exactly evil. Hell of a lot more innocent than the scum I usually dealt with.
I headed toward the entrance hall. When I reached the long corridor connecting the main building to the front courtyard, I glanced through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I saw her.
Hazel knelt just inside the iron gate. Obviously just thrown out.
Still wearing last night's dress. Worse—the zipper hung open down her back, exposing pale skin. Even her bra strap showed.
Her hair hung in tangles. Makeup cried off her face, black eyeliner smeared across her cheeks. Total mess.
I stared at her bare back, her dust-covered knees. The irritation in my chest transformed into something stronger. An urge.
I'd already taken that first step toward her.
But before I could actually go out there, Hazel stopped crying.
She pressed her palms to the ground, slowly pushed herself up.
She swept the hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear. Reached back, fumbling with that useless zipper, tugging it up as far as it would go. Then bit by bit, she straightened her spine.
She lifted her hand, roughly wiped the tears and ruined eyeliner from her face with the back of her hand. Took a deep breath. Turned and walked slowly toward the gate.
I stood at the window, staring at that door long after her figure disappeared down the drive.
That nameless feeling in my chest intensified.
When I turned around, Anya stood in the center of the hall.
Her eyes were red and swollen. She'd been crying. But now she just stood there, watching everything in silence.
"Was that too much?" I asked.
Anya whipped around, glaring at me with pure resentment.
"You can sleep with anyone. Why did it have to be her? I actually thought she was my best friend." Tears spilled down Anya's face. "You both make me sick."
I looked at Anya's flushed, furious face. Couldn't find words.
If I owed anyone anything, it was Anya. I was a terrible father. I'd been absent during her darkest times.
After her mother died, all I could do was shield her the best I could. But in our world, real friends were impossible.
I understood how much she valued that friendship. And I understood what it felt like when someone used the one relationship she actually cherished.
But I still couldn't control myself. My voice came out rough.
"She was drunk last night."
Anya froze for a few seconds. Then let out a cold laugh.
"Now you're feeling sorry for her?" Her eyes held pure hostility.
I frowned hard. I didn't tolerate that tone from anyone—not even my own daughter.
"Watch yourself, Anya." My voice dropped low.
But Anya wasn't having it.
"Forget it." Ice in her words. "She has a boyfriend."
I turned my head, looked at Hazel being thrown out by the guards.
She has a boyfriend.
That information burned through every trace of pity and discomfort I'd been feeling.
Suddenly my entire reaction seemed absurd. This woman wasn't just a gold-digging con artist. She was a complete whore.
I'd actually defended a woman who had a boyfriend but crawled into another man's bed? I'd actually gone soft over a few red marks on her arm?
The strange irritation in my chest vanished, replaced by rage.
Any last shred of sympathy for that woman died right there.