CHAPTER 61
Lev
Tallinn, Estonia
One Year Ago
Ingrid stood at the end of the boardroom table, one hand resting on the console as another identity dissolved into a dozen pieces across the wall of screens.
“...the Eastern Triad announced Chairman Liang’s retirement eight months ago,” she said.
A photograph disappeared, and another replaced it.
Different name. Different passport. Different country, but the same man.
The executives who’d announced his retirement had buried him beneath enough lies that no one had thought to look for a body.
“There was never a retirement,” Ingrid said. “Only succession.”
I watched a dead man become someone else.
Interesting.
Not because of Liang. Because if the machine could do this reliably, I could dismantle an empire without firing a shot.
I leaned back in my chair and took another slow draw from my cigar. Smoke drifted toward the recessed lights, leaving the faint scent of cedar and spice hanging in the room.
“This is verified?” I asked.
“In every respect,” she said.
“Skip ahead. What did the system learn about Sokolov?”
She touched the display again.
A broad, heavyset man appeared. Close-cropped hair. Receding hairline. A trimmed gray beard framing a face built more for intimidation than charm. His expression was flat, almost bored, but his eyes held the kind of attention that missed very little.
Viktor Sokolov.
He controlled the Bratva’s American operations from Chicago, embedding himself in finance, technology, and weapons routes buried beneath shell companies.
A thorn in my uncle’s side.
America needed change.
“He has a daughter,” Ingrid said.
I sat forward.
Sokolov had buried three wives after they failed to give him a child. No one had ever proven he killed them.
No one needed proof.
“Where is she?”
“She’s been hidden since birth and kept out of the public eye,” she said.
This system was good. Very good.
Sokolov wouldn’t survive something like this.
Neither would most men who’d built their power on secrets.
I let the thought pass. “Where does it fail?”
Ingrid’s smile barely shifted.
Nothing was foolproof. Her pride didn’t change that.
She crossed the room without answering. Her heels clicked softly across the polished floor until she stopped beside my chair.
“There’s...” She settled onto my lap as though the boardroom belonged to her as much as the servers beneath it. “...a hiccup.”
Maybe it did.
Her hand slid beneath the open collar of my shirt, fingertips tracing the ink across my chest.
The black lines of St. Michael crossed one of many old scars covering my body, the kind men like me accumulated climbing high enough to become untouchable.
“What kind of hiccup?”
“The system isn’t finished.” Her fingers moved slowly over my chest. “There’s one person who can complete it.”
That interested me more than the demonstration, though I gave her no sign of it.
“Who?” I asked.
“The original designer,” she said.
“You trust him?”
Her fingers caught the chain beneath my shirt and drew the pendant into the light.
A small silver Gemini symbol rested against my chest.
“You never tell me when your birthday is,” she said.
I rolled the cigar between my fingers. “Does it matter?”
“I was hoping I’d solved the mystery,” she said.
“You’ve solved one.”
A deflection.
What was she hiding?
She laughed softly, letting the pendant fall back against my skin.
I studied her for another second.
I crushed the end of my cigar into the crystal ashtray. “Then get it done.”
She smiled like she’d won something.
She hadn’t.
My hand closed around the back of her neck. “What happens when this guy refuses?”
Her breath caught, but her voice stayed steady. “Then I’ll call you.”
“Because if this fails, Ingrid, it won’t be him answering for it.”
She thought she was controlling this. She’d settled onto my lap as though the boardroom and everything in it belonged to her.
Let her.
My fingers found the zipper hidden along the side of her dress.
One sharp pull and it hissed all the way down.
I hooked the straps and yanked them forward and down in a single motion.
The fabric slid off her shoulders and pooled at her waist, baring her completely from the chest up.
Caramel skin, full breasts, and dark nipples that tightened in the cool air of the room.
Ingrid arched, pressing them closer like she still held the power. Her hand reached for my open shirt again, but I caught her wrist before she touched me.
“No.”
I held it against her side and leaned forward, closing my mouth over one nipple. I bit down hard.
She gasped, her body jerking against me as I drew the sensitive peak between my teeth and worked my tongue roughly over it. Her free hand gripped my shoulder, nails digging in.
“Lev—” she gasped.
“On your knees.”
The order came out low and flat. I leaned back in the wide leather chair, legs spread, letting her see exactly who was in control.
She slid off my lap, dress gathered around her hips, and dropped to her knees between my thighs. Her fingers worked my belt and zipper with quick, practiced movements. When I sprang free, thick and hard against her hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base and looked up at me.
I didn’t wait. I threaded my fingers through her dark hair and guided her mouth onto me.
Her lips stretched around my shaft as she took me deeper, her mouth hot and wet, tongue moving over me. A low moan vibrated through her as one hand followed the motion of her mouth. I leaned back, watching warmth spread across her caramel skin, her bare breasts shifting with every movement.
I tightened my grip in her hair and took control, pushing deeper, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm that made her throat tighten around me. The sounds of her mouth filled the boardroom, every wet breath sharpening the pressure building low in my body.
I pulled her off me with a quick tug.
Before she could catch her breath, I stood, spun her around, and bent her over the long conference table in one smooth move. I shoved her dress the rest of the way up over her hips, kicked her feet wider apart, lined up, and slammed into her in a single hard thrust.
She cried out, palms slapping against the polished wood as I buried myself to the hilt. She was ready. I didn’t go slow. And by now she shouldn’t expect me to.
“Touch yourself,” I growled, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks. “I don’t have time to make this last. I’ve got another meeting.”
She reached between her legs immediately, fingers circling frantically while I railed her. Her walls clenched around me, fluttering as she got closer.
I drove into her harder, faster, chasing my own release. When she came, shuddering and moaning my name, I buried myself deep and followed with a low groan.
For a moment the only sound was our heavy breathing.
I stayed buried in her for another few seconds, then pulled out slowly. I tucked myself away, buttoned my shirt, and picked up a fresh cigar.
“Find him,” I said, lighting it. “I want this system fully functional, or you answer for it.”
I took a slow drag, smoke curling toward the ceiling, and looked down at her still bent over the table.
***
Geneva, Switzerland
One Year Ago
The brunette had fierce eyes.
Most people at these things came hunting introductions.
She came hunting answers.
I admired that.
I admired her body more.
Before I could properly convince her to come upstairs with me, Sasha stepped into my peripheral vision. He leaned close enough that no one else would hear.
“Sir,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Gemini has been spotted,” he said.
My eyes found Ingrid across the ballroom.
Well, I hadn’t seen that coming.
I looked at the brunette one more time and touched her lip with my thumb. She didn’t move until I pulled away.
“Another time, kroshka,” I said.
I handed her a matte black card with only a name on it.
Lev Korovin.
“So you know who noticed you first,” I said, letting my gaze drag over her.
Then I caught Sasha’s eye and tipped my chin toward the exit.
Outside, the cold bit through the night air. Exhaust curled pale beneath the streetlights, and the waiting motorcade idled at the curb.
I slid into the back seat, and the door shut out the music behind me.