Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Viktor
I leaned against my desk and watched through the one-way glass, eyes locked on the slim shape wrapped in silk sheets in the bedroom next door.
Hailey had slept.
She curled up in my bed wearing my shirt, hair a messy spill across the pillow. Even through the glass, I could damn near smell her—vanilla cut with musk.
I lit a cigar and drew deep, letting the bite of nicotine smother the restless hunger crawling under my skin.
Shit.
I should've been smarter. I should've left the second I knew she was safe—given her space, given myself time to cool off.
But I couldn't.
The second I heard what that bastard landlord had said in her apartment, the second I saw him shove her down on the couch—
I almost snapped his neck.
Almost.
But I couldn't. Not yet.
I needed to make sure Hailey was safe first.
She had been scared out of her mind. The way she'd crashed into my arms and shook while she cried twisted something inside me, like a rusty blade turning in my chest.
If I'd walked back in reeking of blood and murder, I would've scared her all over again.
My office door tapped. Yuri came in. Rain clung to him like a second coat, and he carried a black encrypted tablet.
"Pakhan." Yuri stepped up and handed it over, his face blank, efficient. "The file you asked for. The landlord from the Brooklyn place."
I crushed out the cigar and took the tablet.
Gary Higgins. Forty-five. Three run-down apartment buildings in his name.
I skimmed the background report, line after line, and my gaze went colder by the second.
The guy's history was disgusting. Two prior accusations for sexual harassment—both died when "evidence was insufficient," or the victims withdrew.
His hunting pattern was clear: young single women new to New York, broke, no connections. He used predatory lease clauses and inflated deposits like a noose, squeezing until they gave in.
"He really knows how to play the loopholes," I muttered, and tossed the tablet hard onto the desk.
"He didn't just threaten them with deposits," Yuri added. "He also owes a shitload of high-interest money to a few underground casinos. Total trash. Pakhan, you want me to have someone erase him?"
"No." I stood and walked to the windows, staring out at Manhattan still getting beaten to hell by wind and rain. My mouth curled into something sharp. "Death is too easy for that kind of garbage. I want to pay him a visit myself. I want those hands crushed so badly he can't even wipe his own ass."
Yuri nodded like I'd asked for coffee. "I'll set up the car and muscle."
"Tomorrow morning. Daylight." I turned, glanced at the hidden door. "Tonight, I want that building watched like it's a goddamn bank vault. He doesn't take one step outside. If he tries to run, you break his legs."
"Yes." Yuri left.
I sat again, and my eyes cut right through the glass to Hailey. She rolled over, brows pinching like a nightmare had found her. I barely breathed until her forehead smoothed out again.
I sat in the dark and watched her all night.
When the first thin strip of morning cracked through the clouds over Manhattan, the exhaustion and violence from last night had washed clean off me.
I hit the intercom.
"Sarah."
"Good morning, Mr. Ivanov. What do you need?" Sarah—my chief executive secretary—sounded exactly the way she always did: crisp, controlled.
"Go to that couture womenswear place across from Cartier and pick up a seasonal office set. Size..." I closed my eyes. Hailey's narrow waist and balanced curves showed up in my head like a blueprint. "And order French breakfast from 'Le Coucou.' I want it at my office in twenty minutes."
"Of course, sir." Not a flicker of curiosity.
I hung up, went into the washroom, and changed into a brand-new deep navy three-piece cut razor-sharp. I tied my tie in the mirror and slid the cold Glock into the holster at my waist.
By the time I came back out, the breakfast and clothes were already there.
I tapped the control, cracked the hidden door open just a slit, and waited behind the one-way glass.
A few minutes later, Hailey woke up.
She blinked slowly, dazed, staring at the ceiling like she couldn't place where she was. Then her eyes dropped to the nightstand—fresh couture, neatly laid out, and a perfect French breakfast throwing off a warm, buttery scent.
Her clean green eyes went wide with pure shock.
She sat up carefully and touched the fabric like it might disappear. Her face lit with this helpless, disbelieving happiness that tightened my chest. She bit her lip, stared down at the food, then looked up toward the one-way glass.
I stood on my side of it, watching her look so damn startled and sweet, and my mouth lifted before I could stop it.
Eat, princess. In this fortress, all you have to do is take what I give you.
I didn't go in. I didn't interrupt.
I turned and strode out of the executive office.
Yuri and two thick-necked, expressionless Bratva bodyguards waited by the elevator.
"Let's go," I said.
The elevator dropped to the underground garage. Three black SUVs slid out of the Ivanov Group building like ghosts, cutting through the cold New York morning air and charging straight for Brooklyn.
When we stopped in front of that rotting apartment building, the street was still quiet, barely awake.
I got out. My shoes clicked on the wet pavement. I ignored the front door I'd kicked to hell last night and headed up the stairs that stank of mold and old rot.
Third floor.
Two bodyguards posted on either side of the unit. Yuri didn't even bother drawing a gun—he just lifted his foot and slammed it into the busted door that had been "fixed" with a few nails.
The door caved in again with a hard crack.
"Who the fuck—"
Gary Higgins stumbled out of the bedroom in a filthy robe with a baseball bat in his hands, already shouting.
He didn't get to finish.
The bodyguards hit him like predators.
The bat got ripped away. One clean takedown and they pinned his heavy body flat against the dusty floor littered with glass.
"Get off me! Who the hell are you? I'm calling the cops!" Gary thrashed, but against trained Bratva muscle he moved like a fat pig waiting for the knife.
I stepped over the threshold and walked into the cheap, stale living room.
I didn't speak right away. I went to the coffee table I'd cracked last night, then sat on the beat-up fabric couch. I crossed one leg over the other, folded my hands on my knee, and watched him from above with a dead face.
Gary finally saw me.
The color drained out of him so fast it was almost funny. His eyes bulged. His lips shook.
"It's... it's you." He'd recognized me.
"Gary Higgins," I said his name slow, voice low and flat, pressure sliding into every syllable.
"Sir! Boss! I fucked up!" He started begging, tears and snot running together. "Last night was a mistake! I was drunk! I didn't know Miss Woods was yours! Please—be a good man—just let me go, please!"
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
"A mistake?" I raised an eyebrow, sounding almost gentle. "I looked at your file. You've pulled the same shit on at least five women. You used their contracts, their deposits, their fear. That was a mistake too?"
His breathing locked. Sweat rolled down from his thinning hairline. "That was... that was in the past! I swear, I'll never do it again!"
"I don't believe in swears," I said.
I stood and walked right up to him.
He tried to shrink back, but the bodyguards clamped his shoulders and spread him out, holding him down like a pinned animal.
"Yuri." I held out my hand.
Yuri placed a prepared document set and a black steel pen into it.
"This is a lease termination agreement," I said, and slapped the papers down onto Gary's face, my voice ice-cold. "And a statement waiving any claim to deposits or penalties. You sign it. And every cent in Hailey Woods's account—principal and interest—goes back to her right now."
Gary shook so hard his robe fluttered. He didn't dare say no. With his good left hand, he grabbed the pen and scrawled his name like a child.
Yuri pulled out a portable card terminal and forced his hand through the authorization.
"It... it went through. I refunded it. All of it." Gary looked up, pleading with his whole face. "Sir, I gave it back. So... we're good, right?"
"Refunding money only fixes the contract." I cut him off, looking down at him. "Now we handle the personal part."
I lowered my gaze to his right hand—the one I'd already stomped last night, the fingers broken, swollen purple like rotten fruit.
"Last night, you used that hand to grab her shoulder, didn't you?" I asked softly.
"No! I didn't! I didn't touch her!" Gary screamed, trying to tuck his hand under himself.
I didn't let him.
I lifted my foot—custom leather, expensive—and set it right on top of his swollen hand.
Gary choked on a sound.
I didn't press at first. I let the sole feel the tremor in his bones. I stared into his eyes—those panicked, hopeless eyes.
"You touched her," I said like I was reading the weather. My pressure increased, slow and steady. "You made her scared."
"Fuck—please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Gary howled, body flopping like a fish on a dock, but the guards held him down.
"That hand makes me very, very unhappy."
The words came out cold.
Then I dropped my full weight.
My heel ground into the back of his hand.
Bone shattered clean, the sound sharp in the tight room.
Gary's scream ripped through the apartment, louder than traffic outside. His eyes rolled back. His body spasmed, then went slack as he passed out, collapsing into the floor like wet trash.
I stepped off, disgusted, and wiped my sole on the stained carpet.
"Wake him up," I said. "Then ruin the other hand too. I don't want to hear another sound out of him."
The guards nodded. One of them drew a military knife with a blood groove.
I didn't look at the garbage again. I turned and walked out.
By the time I got back to the Ivanov Group building, Manhattan's financial machine was already running at full speed.
I didn't go to my office. I headed straight for the administrative center.
"Get me the HR director," I said, taking a seat at a long conference table and loosening my tie.
In under three minutes, the middle-aged woman hurried in, sweating, still clutching her meeting notebook like a shield. Her breath came quick. "Mr. Ivanov, what urgent instructions do you have?"
I leaned back, hands folded in front of me. "Our employee benefits are outdated. For exceptional new talent in core roles, we lack adequate housing security."
She blinked, thrown.
"You mean..."
"I'm launching a 'core talent housing benefit program,'" I said. "Starting today, employees who show outstanding ability on key projects receive high-end housing at no cost."
"That's an excellent incentive plan," she said fast, nodding, flipping open her notebook. "What are the budget and location standards?"
"There's a building in Jersey I've already had Legal transfer under the Group. Employees can pick their own floors." I cut her off and slid a sticky note with an address toward her. "But this Upper East Side apartment serves as an additional benefit."
She stared at the address—prime real estate—and sucked in a sharp breath.
"Then... who is the first employee to receive it?"
"Finance. Hailey Woods." I said the name without expression.
Her pen froze. She looked up, shock and confusion mixing with sudden understanding. What I'd done in the lobby yesterday—making an example out of that prosecutor for Hailey—had clearly made its rounds upstairs.
But she was smart. She knew what to ask and what to swallow.
"I understand, Mr. Ivanov." She lowered her head, hiding whatever she felt. "I'll have HR draft an official email and notify Miss Woods under the name of Group benefits."
"Good." I stood and buttoned my jacket. "You tell her it's what she's earned."
"Yes."
"This afternoon, I want her holding the keys."
"Yes, sir."
I left the administrative center and took the elevator back to the top floor.
I pushed into my office and sat behind the massive mahogany desk. I didn't turn on the surveillance monitors. I didn't need to.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and pictured the next steps like a script.
Hailey would get the email. She'd freeze. She'd think it was a mistake. She'd probably search the address online. And when she saw that obscene penthouse—
She'd know. She'd know it wasn't some normal "employee housing."
She was too smart. Her pride was too sharp, her nerves too sensitive. She would connect it to me immediately.
I sat there imagining her storming in, angry and bright-eyed, that stubborn fire in her face—and a satisfied smile pulled at my mouth.
Come on.
Come find me, my princess.
From now on, every corner of her life carried my shadow.
I'd make her used to me being there.
I'd make her need me.
And when she relied on me completely—
I'd tell her the truth.
Who I was. How dangerous my world really was.
But not yet.
For now, I only pulled her in, step by step.
Until she had nowhere left to run.