Chapter 2
ROMAN
Iwatch Eva Markova stand before my desk, her spine straight despite the fear I can see flickering in those brown eyes. Most people crumble under my scrutiny. Natasha cries. Men stammer excuses. But Eva simply meets my gaze and apologizes with quiet dignity.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sokolov. Could you show me the correct method so I won't make the same mistake twice?"
Her voice is steady, professional. No tears.
No excuses. Just a request to learn. Something about her composure intrigues me in a way I don't entirely welcome.
She's afraid. I can see it in the slight tension of her shoulders, the way her pulse flutters at her throat.
But she's not broken. There's steel beneath that polished exterior.
I move around my desk, closing the distance between us.
She doesn't retreat, though I notice her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for her notepad.
I'm standing closer than necessary, close enough to smell her perfume.
Something light and floral that doesn't belong in my world of leather and gunpowder. Something innocent.
"The quarterly reports are filed by fiscal period," I explain, my voice low. I lean over her shoulder to point at the file, aware of how her breath catches. "Not calendar year. The color coding follows the fiscal quarters. Red for Q1, blue for Q2, green for Q3, yellow for Q4."
She takes notes with neat, precise handwriting.
Her blonde hair is pulled back in a sleek bun, not a strand out of place.
Minimal makeup. A tailored navy dress that's professional but can't quite hide her curves.
She's beautiful in an understated way, the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you rather than demanding attention.
"I understand," she says, her pen moving across the paper. "I'll reorganize the files immediately."
I notice the way she presses her thumbnail into her index finger when she's nervous. A tell. Everyone has them, and I've built an empire on reading people. Eva Markova is trying so hard to appear unaffected, and it makes me want to unravel her composure just to see what's underneath.
"See that you do." I step back, putting professional distance between us.
Her brown eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something passes between us. Understanding. Recognition. She knows I'm not just talking about filing systems.
"Yes, Mr. Sokolov."
I dismiss her with a curt nod, and she returns to her office with the file clutched against her chest. Through the glass wall, I watch her settle at her desk and begin reorganizing the documents with focused intensity. She doesn't look up, doesn't check to see if I'm watching. She just works.
I shouldn't be noticing her like this. She's an employee, too young and innocent for my world.
Twenty-four to my forty-one. A lifetime of difference in experience, in darkness, in the things we've done to survive.
But there's something about Eva Markova that's gotten under my skin in the span of a single day.
She's competent and intelligent. She doesn't simper or flirt like so many women do when they want something from me. She doesn't try to use her looks as currency. She just works, efficiently and quietly, and I find myself watching her more than I should.
My phone buzzes. Lev, letting me know he's on his way up.
I force my attention back to the documents on my desk, but my gaze keeps drifting to Eva's silhouette through the glass. The way she straightens papers that are already straight when she's thinking. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with unconscious grace.
Enough.
I turn my chair away from the glass wall and pull up the shipping manifests that need my attention. Business. Focus on business.
The elevator chimes, and Lev Baranov walks onto the floor with the silent confidence of a man who's been by my side for over two decades. He's dressed in a dark suit similar to mine, his expression neutral as he enters my office and closes the door behind him.
"Roman." He settles into the chair across from my desk, his dark eyes already assessing. "How was the first day with the new secretary?"
"Adequate." I keep my voice neutral, but Lev knows me too well.
His gaze flicks to the glass wall, to Eva still working in her office. When he looks back at me, there's a warning in his expression.
"She's off-limits," he says bluntly. No preamble. That's Lev. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."
"I'm not thinking anything." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
"Bullshit." Lev leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "I've known you since we were fifteen. I can read you better than anyone. And right now, you're looking at that girl like she's something you want to possess."
I don't deny it. There's no point in lying to Lev.
"She's an employee," I say instead. "Nothing more."
"Keep it that way." His voice is hard. "We have enough problems without your complicating things by fucking the help."
I should be angry at his bluntness, but Lev has earned the right to speak to me this way. He's saved my life more times than I can count. He's the only person I trust completely.
"Tell me about the docks," I say, changing the subject.
Lev's expression shifts to business. "Three shipments delayed in the past two weeks. Different excuses each time. Safety concerns, paperwork issues, dock worker complaints. But the pattern is consistent."
"Someone's testing us."
"That's my assessment." Lev pulls out his phone and swipes through photos. "The delays are costing us money, but more importantly, they're making us look weak. Our associates are starting to ask questions."
I study the photos. Shipping containers, dock manifests, time stamps. Small problems, individually insignificant. But together, they form a pattern I don't like.
"Increase security at the docks," I order. "I want surveillance on every worker who filed a complaint. Find out who they're connected to."
"Already in progress." Lev pockets his phone. "But Roman, if this is Yakovlev…"
"We need proof before we move." I cut him off. "Abram is careful. He won't leave evidence that traces back to him."
"Then we make him careless." Lev's smile is cold. "Apply pressure. See where he breaks."
We spend the next hour discussing strategy, making calls, issuing orders. This is what I'm good at. Control. Planning. Executing with ruthless efficiency. My world makes sense when I'm handling business, when I'm the Pakhan making decisions that affect hundreds of lives.
But throughout it all, I'm aware of Eva still working in the adjacent office. Her silhouette visible through the glass. The light from her desk lamp creating a halo around her blonde hair.
When Lev finally leaves, it's past ten. The forty-second floor is empty except for Eva and me. I should go home. Should let her finish her work and leave. But instead, I find myself walking to her office.
She looks up when I enter, surprise flickering across her face before she masks it with professional composure.
"Mr. Sokolov. Do you need something?"
"You should go home." I lean against her doorframe, my arms crossed. "You've done enough for your first day."
"I wanted to finish reorganizing these files." She gestures to the neat stacks on her desk. "Make sure everything is correct."
"It can wait until tomorrow."
She hesitates, then nods. "Of course."
I watch as she gathers her things. Her movements are efficient, practiced. She pulls on a coat that's seen better days, the fabric worn at the cuffs.
"Goodnight, Mr. Sokolov." She moves past me toward the elevator, her perfume lingering in the air.
"Eva." Her first name feels strange on my tongue. Intimate. She turns, her brown eyes questioning. "You did well today. Despite the mistake."
Something softens in her expression. "Thank you."
Then she's gone, the elevator doors closing on her tired but determined face.
I return to my office and pour myself vodka, neat. The city spreads out below my windows, lights glittering like stars. My kingdom. Everything I've built from nothing, from blood and ambition and the willingness to do what others won't.
I should review the shipping manifests Lev left. Should make more calls, handle more business. But instead, I open my laptop and pull up the background check my security team compiled on Eva Markova before she was hired.
Standard procedure. We investigate everyone who works in this building, especially anyone with access to my floor.
I skim through the information I already know—born in Russia, immigrated at nineteen, mother died of cancer two years ago.
Student loans, medical debt. A brother and grandmother still in Russia.
Then I see it. A detail buried in the financial records that raises my hackles.
Eva's mother's medical debt was financed through a company called MediFund Solutions. The name is familiar. Too familiar. I pull up another file, cross-referencing the information.
There.
MediFund Solutions has been flagged in my organization's intelligence reports as a predatory lending scheme.
One that's possibly connected to Abram Yakovlev's operations.
They target immigrant families, offering financing for medical emergencies at interest rates that ensure the debt can never be repaid.
It's a trap designed to create leverage, to own people through their desperation.
I stare at Eva's file, my mind racing through possibilities.
Coincidence? Or is Eva Markova a plant sent by Abram to infiltrate my organization? Is her desperation real, or is it a carefully constructed cover?
The timing is suspicious. Abram starts testing my territory at the docks, and suddenly, a young woman with connections to his lending scheme appears in my office, working directly for me, with access to my files and my schedule.
I think about the way she looked at me tonight. The fear in her eyes. The trembling hands. Was any of it real?
I close the laptop and drain my vodka, the burn doing nothing to ease the cold suspicion settling in my chest.
Tomorrow, I'll have my security team dig deeper. I'll watch Eva more carefully, test her, see if she reveals herself. And if she's working for Abram, if she's been sent to destroy me from the inside…
I'll handle it the way I handle all threats to my organization.
With ruthless, absolute efficiency.