Chapter 8
Yarik
I wake before dawn with Sarah curled against my side, her hair spread across my chest and her breathing soft and even. The events of last night feel both surreal and inevitable, as if we’d been moving toward this moment since the day she flooded my pool deck.
She stirs when I brush a strand of hair from her face, opening those green eyes that have been haunting my thoughts for weeks. “What time is it?”
“Early. You don’t have to get up yet.”
She stretches like a cat, and her body presses against mine in ways that make my morning erection more insistent. The simple contact sends heat through me, and I have to resist the urge to roll her beneath me and start the day the way we ended last night.
“I should go.” She sits up, and I immediately miss her warmth. “Mrs. Nykova will be here soon, and I don’t want anyone to see me leaving your room. I need to go home to shower and?—”
“Stay a few more minutes.” I pull her back down beside me, enjoying the way she fits perfectly against my side. “Mrs. Nykova doesn’t arrive until seven, and it’s barely six.”
She relaxes into my arms, and we lie in comfortable silence while the sun gradually lightens the sky outside my windows. I could get used to waking up with her beside me, starting each day with her warm body pressed against mine.
The thought should alarm me, considering how carefully I’ve avoided emotional entanglements for years. Instead, it feels right in a way that nothing has for a very long time.
“Yarik?” Her voice is quiet and uncertain.
“Yes?”
“Last night was...” She pauses, searching for words. “I don’t regret it, but I need to know this isn’t just physical for you.”
I turn so I can look into her eyes, seeing vulnerability there that makes my chest constrict. “It’s not just physical.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know yet, but I want to find out.”
She searches my face for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I want to find out too.”
She gets up reluctantly, gathering her clothes from where we scattered them across the floor last night. I watch her dress, memorizing the way she moves and the curve of her back as she reaches for her dress zipper. “I’ll see you at work,” she says, pausing at the door.
“Sarah?”
She turns back to me.
“Thank you for last night, this morning, and trusting me.”
She smiles, a genuine expression that transforms her entire face. “Thank you for making me feel safe enough to trust.”
After she leaves, I lie in bed for a few more minutes, replaying the night and trying to process what’s changed between us.
The physical connection was better than anything I’ve experienced with anyone else.
More than that was the emotional intimacy, and the way she looked at me like I was just a man instead of a pakhan .
I finally force myself to get up and prepare for the day, knowing maintaining our professional relationship will be more challenging now that I know exactly how she sounds when she comes apart in my arms. By seven-thirty, I’m showered, dressed, and reviewing overnight reports in my office when Valentin arrives with his usual morning briefing and a grim expression.
“We have a problem.” He sets his laptop on my desk and pulls up a series of financial records. “Someone accessed one of our dormant shell companies yesterday and authorized a significant transaction.”
I study the screen, noting the account numbers and transaction details. “Which company?”
“Meridian Holdings. The one we used for the art acquisition three years ago, then mothballed when we shifted to direct purchases.”
“Who has access to that account?”
“According to our records, just you, me, and the bookkeeper who handled the original set-up.” Valentin scrolls through more documents. “Viktor Petrov. He’s been with us for six years, has a clean record, and is a family man.”
I frown, trying to understand why a man like that would take such a risk. “What kind of transaction?”
“It’s a payment authorization for a customs processing fee. The package is a high-value import, disguised as luxury artwork and antiques.” He pulls up the shipping manifest. “Look at the actual cargo description.”
I scan the detailed inventory, recognizing the coded language immediately. “Weapons. Someone’s trying to move military-grade equipment through our channels.”
He nods. “It gets worse. The shipment routing shows it coming through Nikitin distribution networks.” Valentin’s expression is stone cold.
“If this had processed successfully, the legal exposure would have fallen entirely on us. The Nikitins would have clean hands while we faced federal weapons trafficking charges.”
I grit my teeth and breathe in and out for a moment to quell the surge of anger. I need to be calm and rational, not a rampaging beast. “How far did it get?”
“We caught it at the preliminary customs review. Our contact flagged it as suspicious because the artwork descriptions didn’t match the declared values.” He closes the laptop. “Seems someone clearly expects this kind of cooperation from us.”
I lean back in my chair, processing the implications. “Or they think they can sneak it past us and make us the dupes. They’re testing our security to see how much access they can gain to our operations.”
“That’s my assessment. The question is whether Viktor acted alone, or if he’s working with someone else.”
“Bring him in. I want to know exactly how someone convinced him to compromise a dormant account without authorization.”
“Already done. He’s in the warehouse office, waiting for your instructions.”
I stand, reaching for my jacket. “Let’s go have a conversation with Viktor.”
The drive to the warehouse gives me time to consider the broader implications of this breach.
Someone with detailed knowledge of our financial structure convinced a trusted employee to access an account that should have been untouchable.
Either we have a serious security problem, or the Nikitins are more resourceful than I gave them credit for.
Viktor Petrov sits in the office chair like a man facing execution, which isn’t far from the truth. He’s middle-aged and soft around the edges, with the look of someone who’s spent his life avoiding trouble but suddenly found himself in the middle of it.
“Viktor.” I take the chair across from him while Valentin positions himself by the door. “Tell me about yesterday’s transaction.”
His voice shakes when he speaks. “Mr. Barinov, I can explain. The authorization looked legitimate, and I thought?—”
“I’m not interested in what you thought. I want to know exactly what happened, from the beginning.”
He takes a shaky breath. “A man called yesterday morning and said he was representing one of your European partners. He had all the right codes, knew about the Meridian account, and even knew my daughter’s name.”
“What did he want?”
“Authorization for a customs payment. He said it was time-sensitive, and you were traveling so you couldn’t handle it personally.
” He wipes perspiration from his forehead.
“He provided all the documentation, Mr. Barinov. Account numbers, routing information, and even copies of what looked like your signature on the authorization forms.”
That’s infuriating, but I maintain an icy demeanor. “Describe this man.”
“American accent, and he sounded professional. He knew details about our operations that only someone with inside access would know.” Viktor’s voice becomes more desperate. “I’ve been loyal to your family for six years. I would never intentionally compromise?—”
“Someone convinced you to access a dormant account without verification from me or Valentin.” I keep my voice level, but Viktor flinches as if I’d shouted. “That’s either incompetence or betrayal.”
“I thought I was following proper procedures. The documentation looked authentic.”
I study his face, looking for signs of deception.
All I see is genuine fear and confusion, which doesn’t necessarily mean he’s telling the truth.
“Viktor, I want you to understand something. This transaction would have resulted in federal charges against our entire organization. Your family would have been left without protection or support while you served a lengthy prison sentence.”
He nods frantically. “I understand now. I should have verified directly with you and should have questioned the urgency.”
“Yes, you should have.” I stand, signaling the end of the conversation. “Clean out your desk. Your employment here is terminated immediately.”
“Mr. Barinov, please. I have a wife and children. This job is all I have.”
“You should have considered that before compromising our security.”
Valentin steps forward. “I’ll escort you out.”
“Wait.” I study Viktor’s face one more time. “Who else knows about the Meridian account?”
“No one, I swear. I’ve never discussed dormant accounts with anyone outside the organization.”
“Your family? Friends? Anyone you might have mentioned work details to?”
He frantically shakes his head. “Never. I’ve always been careful about operational security.”
I nod to Valentin, who takes Viktor’s arm and guides him toward the door. The man’s career with us is over, but whether he lives to find new employment depends on whether I believe his story about being deceived rather than corrupted.
After they leave, I spend an hour reviewing our financial security protocols and identifying vulnerabilities that need to be addressed. If someone can convince a trusted employee to compromise dormant accounts, we need better verification procedures and clearer consequences for unauthorized access.
My phone buzzes, but when I check it, it’s just a routine update from our legal team about contract reviews. Nothing that requires immediate attention.
I return to my analysis and finally text Valentin the verdict: Just cut him loose and ensure he doesn’t work for any of our allies or rivals in future. Spread the word he can’t be trusted.
He texts back: Does he deserve such leniency?