10. Nick
NICK
The warehouse smells like salt water, diesel fuel, and the faint metallic tang of rust from the shipping containers stacked three high along the far wall.
I stand in the center of the concrete floor wearing dark jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and my leather jacket, watching my men unload crates from the latest shipment that arrived six hours late at the port.
The delay was minor, a miscommunication between the dock supervisor and the transport crew, but I don't tolerate sloppiness in my operation.
Especially not now, when we're in the middle of delicate merger negotiations that could reshape the entire power structure of this city.
I pull out the manifest and scan the list of contents, checking each item against what's actually being unloaded.
My captains know better than to cut corners when I'm personally overseeing inventory, and they move with efficiency, calling out container numbers and contents as they work.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across the warehouse floor, and the sound of metal scraping against concrete echoes through the space every time another crate is set down.
Everything appears to be in order.
The shipment contains exactly what it's supposed to contain, and the delay hasn't caused any real problems beyond forcing me to spend my Saturday night in a fucking warehouse instead of somewhere more comfortable.
Still, I make notes on the manifest about the communication breakdown and which supervisor needs to be reminded that punctuality isn't optional in my organization.
One of my men, a captain who's been with the family for fifteen years, approaches with a clipboard.
"Everything's accounted for," he says, his voice respectful but not obsequious.
I don't keep men around who grovel, but I also don't keep men around who forget their place.
He understands the balance. "The dock supervisor wants to apologize personally for the delay. "
"Tell him I don't want apologies," I say, signing off on the manifest and handing it back. "I want it not to happen again. If it does, he can find work somewhere else."
My captain nods and moves away to relay the message.
I watch the rest of the unloading process for another twenty minutes, making sure everything is secured properly and that the inventory is logged correctly in our system.
The warehouse is one of several properties the Vasiliev family controls along the waterfront, and it's critical that operations here run smoothly.
Any weakness in our supply chain could be exploited by rivals, and I refuse to give anyone that opportunity.
By the time I'm satisfied that everything is handled, it's nearly eleven at night. I'm pulling off my gloves and heading toward the exit when my phone rings.
The caller ID shows it's one of my security contacts at the Ivory Wolf, which immediately puts me on alert.
The club should be running smoothly on a Saturday night, and my people know better than to call me unless there's a problem worth my attention.
"What is it?" I answer, my tone making it clear I expect this to be important.
"Sir, I thought you should know that both Stepanov and Lenkov were here earlier tonight," the voice on the other end says.
It's one of the bartenders, a man who's been on my payroll for years specifically to keep an eye on things and report anything unusual.
"They were both acting strange. Stepanov was questioning Sharon, the waitress.
Lenkov showed up after and watched them for a while before approaching Stepanov at the bar. "
I feel irritation flare hot in my chest. "What were they asking about?"
"I couldn't hear the full conversation, but Sharon looked nervous and uncomfortable. After Stepanov left, Lenkov stayed for a few minutes and then left too. It seemed like they were both interested in something she knew."
Fuck.
"Anything else?" I ask, keeping my voice controlled despite the anger building inside me.
"No, sir. That's all I observed."
"Keep watching. Let me know if either of them comes back." I end the call and shove the phone back into my pocket, my jaw tight with frustration.
This is exactly what we don't need right now. During sensitive merger negotiations, when we're trying to consolidate three powerful families into one unified organization, the last thing any of us should be doing is getting distracted by a woman.
Especially a woman who's already slept with all three of us and might be a potential security risk.
But apparently Russ and Alex can't let it go. And if they're both sniffing around Sharon asking questions about Marla, that means they're both thinking about pursuing her.
Which means this situation is about to get a hell of a lot more complicated than it already is.
I climb into my SUV and start the engine.
The smart move would be to call both of them right now and remind them that we agreed to keep our distance from Marla until we figure out whether she's a genuine coincidence or a planted threat.
But I know both Russ and Alex well enough to understand that telling them to back off will only make them more determined to do whatever the fuck they want.
I pull out of the warehouse parking lot and head toward the city, intending to stop by the Ivory Wolf myself and see what's going on.
The streets are relatively empty at this hour, just a few cars scattered across the lanes, and I settle into the drive with a calm that comes from years of dealing with unexpected complications.
That's when I spot Alex's car.
It's several vehicles ahead of me, a sleek black sedan that I recognize immediately because I've seen it parked outside enough meetings and business locations over the years.
But instead of heading toward downtown where the Ivory Wolf is located,
Alex is driving in the opposite direction. Away from the city center. Toward the highway that leads out into the countryside.
My instincts immediately go on high alert.
Why the fuck would Alex be heading out of town at this time of night?
There's nothing out there except woods, scattered properties, and the kind of isolation that makes it a good place to conduct business you don't want witnesses for.
I slow down slightly, keeping several cars between us so Alex won't notice he's being followed.
My training kicks in automatically, the skills I learned years ago when surveillance and counter-surveillance were part of my daily routine.
I know how to tail someone without being obvious about it, and I know how to read patterns in traffic and movement that most people would miss.
A few minutes later, I spot another vehicle farther up the highway. A black SUV that I recognize just as easily as I recognized Alex's sedan. Russ.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Alex is following Russ. And now I'm following both of them.
This can't be a coincidence.
Russ was at the Ivory Wolf asking Sharon questions about Marla. Alex showed up after and watched them.
Now they're both driving out of the city in the middle of the night, heading toward the woods where Marla's cottage is supposedly located.
They're going to see her. Both of them.
And apparently neither of them bothered to mention this plan to me.
I feel anger surge through me, hot and sharp, but I force it down and focus.
Getting pissed off won't help me understand what's happening or how to respond to it. I need information first, and the best way to get that information is to follow them and see where this goes.
The highway stretches out ahead of us, dark and mostly empty. The city lights fade behind us as we drive deeper into the countryside, and the trees start to close in on either side of the road.
This is the kind of area where people come when they want privacy and want to disappear from the watchful eyes of the city.
It's also the kind of area where bodies get buried when business deals go wrong.
Russ's SUV maintains a steady speed, and Alex follows at a careful distance. I hang back even farther, using the darkness and the curves in the road to stay hidden.
The farther we drive, the more certain I become that they're heading toward Marla's place.
There's nothing else out here that would draw their attention; nothing else that would make sense given the context of tonight's events.
After about twenty minutes, Russ's taillights slow down. I watch as his SUV turns onto a narrow road that branches off from the highway, disappearing into the trees.
Alex follows without hesitation, his sedan turning onto the same road moments later.
I slow down and make the turn as well, my headlights cutting through the darkness as the paved highway gives way to a dirt road surrounded by dense forest.
The trees form a canopy overhead, blocking out most of the moonlight and creating shadows that seem to move and shift as I drive past.
This is definitely the kind of place where someone would go if they wanted to live off the grid, away from the noise and chaos of the city.
The road winds through the woods for another few minutes before I see brake lights ahead. Both vehicles have slowed to a crawl, and I can make out the shape of a small cottage through the trees.
It's set back from the road, surrounded by woods on all sides, with a single light glowing in one of the windows.
Marla's cottage. It has to be.
I pull my SUV to a stop behind Alex's sedan, leaving enough distance that I'm not blocking anyone in, but close enough that my presence is unmistakable.
The engines cut off one by one, and for a moment there's nothing but silence and the sound of the wind moving through the trees.
I climb out of my vehicle and see Russ standing next to his SUV, his expression dark with irritation as he looks first at Alex and then at me.
Alex leans against his sedan with his arms crossed, looking far too amused by this situation for my liking.
"What the fuck are you two doing here?" Russ asks, his voice low and dangerous.
"I could ask you the same question," I reply, my tone just as hard. "But I think we all know the answer."
Before anyone can say anything else, I notice movement in the cottage. A curtain in the front window shifts, pulled aside by someone inside. All three of us turn to look at the same time.
And there she is. Marla stares back at us through the glass with an expression of complete shock on her face.