Vivienne Wilder walks through the doors with that same composure she wore at the courthouse. Not a hair out of place,her black dress tailored sharp against her frame, her heels steady despite the polished floor that has made others slip. She scans the room without flinching, not even when two of our men let their eyes linger on her too long. She’s unreadable, a mask carved from calm. It grates and fascinates me all at once.
I rise as she approaches, though I don’t offer my hand. “Ms. Wilder.”
“Mr. Sharov.” Her tone is neutral, cool.
Dimitri smirks behind his glass. I silence him with a glance.
I motion toward the chair opposite me. She takes it without hesitation, crossing her legs smoothly. The table falls quiet, the others sensing the shift. This isn’t routine anymore. This is something else.
“There’s a matter I’d like you to consider,” I say. “One of our associates has been accused of laundering money through a front company. The state’s case is thin, but they’re eager to make an example.”
Her gaze is steady. “You want me to dismantle it.”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t look away, doesn’t fold her hands or fidget like so many others would under the weight of expectation. “I’ll take it,” she says finally. “Under one condition.”
I tilt my head, curious. “Which is?”
“Remember what I said before? Full autonomy. I handle the case my way. No interference. No instructions.”
The men around us exchange glances, surprise flickering in the smoke. Dimitri lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “She’s got teeth.”
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on her. She holds the stare without flinching. A slow smirk pulls at my mouth before I can stop it. “You don’t scare easy.”
Her answer is flat, quiet, but it lands heavier than any threat. “Not anymore.”
The silence that follows is thick. For a moment, the club’s pulse fades. All I hear is her voice echoing in my head, sharp and edged with something I can’t place.
“Not anymore.”
I nod once. “Autonomy. You’ll have it. Deliver results, and you’ll find the work… rewarding.”
“I don’t do this for rewards.” She rises smoothly, not waiting for dismissal. “I’ll be in touch when I have something.”
The men at the table watch her walk away, some with curiosity, others with suspicion. She doesn’t glance back once.
When the doors close behind her, I lean back in my chair, cigar box in hand. Dimitri whistles low. “She’s either very brave or very stupid.”
“Neither,” I murmur. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”
His brows lift. “Then why does it bother you?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I strike a match, watching the flame catch before touching it to the end of the cigar. Smoke curls upward, bitter and warm. My mind replays her words, looping them until they grind into me.
Not anymore. Something broke her, sharpened her. Most people crack under pressure. She’s already been through it and come out harder, colder.
The question digs deep: what happened to her? What is she hiding behind that mask of calm?
Why do I want to know so badly?
I turn toward the window that overlooks the city, the neon glow painting the glass. She’s out there now, moving through the night with that same careful stride, carrying secrets I can’t yet see. Secrets that might unravel her… or us.
“Keep watching her,” I tell Dimitri finally, my voice low. “I want to know what she does every minute of every day.”
He exhales smoke, lips curving into a grin. “You think she’s dangerous?”
“I think she’s something unpredictable,” I reply. “I don’t like not knowing what.”
