“Good win today,” one of them says. He doesn’t mean it. The words are nothing but observation.
I take the head of the table. “Sergei’s freedom was necessary. We don’t leave our own to rot in cages. The girl made it happen.”
There’s a ripple of muttered agreement. Someone chuckles under his breath. “Pretty thing, isn’t she? Sharp tongue too.”
I cut him a look that silences him instantly.
“She’ll be working with us again,” I continue. “Small cases first. Test her. See how she moves in our world.”
Dimitri raises a brow but says nothing. The others nod, though unease hums beneath the surface. I know what they’re thinking: a young lawyer with no ties, too clever for her own good, slipping into our circle. It could be opportunity. It could be betrayal.
I thrive on knowing the difference.
The meeting shifts to other matters—shipments, rival crews, a new club opening downtown under our banner. Myattention drifts despite myself. I picture Vivienne’s composure, the way she never let her mask slip even when Sergei’s freedom hung in the balance. Most people would kill for that kind of control. She wears it like a second skin.
Later, when the men disperse, I linger in the quiet of the war room. The ashtrays overflow, the vodka glasses sit half empty, and the maps on the wall mark every inch of territory we control. It should feel satisfying, the order of it all, the power. Instead, my thoughts circle back to her again.
I pour a glass of vodka but don’t drink. The burn isn’t what I need tonight.
Dimitri leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re thinking about her.”
I don’t deny it. “She’s too calm.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she’s fearless. Or maybe she doesn’t understand what she’s dealing with.”
“No.” I shake my head slowly. “She understands. That’s what makes her interesting.”
My brother studies me, then lets out a low laugh. “Careful, Alexei. Curiosity gets men killed.”
I turn toward the window, the city stretched out in neon and shadow beyond the glass. Curiosity isn’t the word. It’s something colder, sharper. The kind of interest that can’t be ignored once it’s been lit.
“Watch her,” I tell him. “Closely. Don’t spook her.”
He nods once, then leaves me to the silence.
I stay there long after the lights dim, the file on the table in front of me, Vivienne’s face burned into the edges of my mind. I don’t like unknown variables, especially pretty ones who play too well. She’s playing something: whether it’s ambition, recklessness, or revenge, I’ll find out.
One way or another, I’ll find out.
When I finally step out into the night, the air tastes like smoke and salt. I light a cigar, let the ember glow against the dark, and watch the city breathe beneath me.
Her words echo again in my head. Her voice, her poise, the way she looked me dead in the eye on those courthouse steps.
Maybe she’s reckless. Maybe she’s brilliant. Maybe she’s already lying to me.
It doesn’t matter yet.
What matters is that she has my attention, and that’s already a problem.
***
Later, the club hums beneath the surface, a low throb of bass threaded through velvet walls and polished marble floors. From the outside it’s just another expensive Manhattan hideout—exclusive, discreet, nothing but tinted windows and a brass plaque with a name most people couldn’t pronounce. Inside, it’s ours.
Bratva men fill the corners, lounging with drinks in hand, laughter sharp and edged with menace. The women glide past in heels and silk, trained to avoid the wrong kind of eye contact. Smoke coils through the dim air, heavy with vodka and cologne.
I sit at the head of a private table on the mezzanine, away from the music and the crowd. Dimitri sprawls to my right, already halfway through his first glass. A few others lean in close, murmuring over ledgers, numbers, shifting territory. Business, routine, the pulse of empire.
Then she arrives.
