Understanding dawned on their faces, followed by varying degrees of discomfort. My private life was not something we discussed, but the implication was clear enough.
"Regardless," Yuri interjected, "the server access occurred during the precise window when our security systems were compromised. If not the boy, then who?"
"O'Rourke has been tracking him for months," I countered. "They could have had someone waiting for an opportunity like this. Dima, what exactly was accessed?"
Dima shifted uncomfortably. "Personnel files, primarily. Territory maps. Security protocols."
Information that would be valuable to anyone planning an incursion into our territory. Or to someone trying to understand who and what they were up against.
"And we're certain nothing was altered or planted?" I pressed.
"System logs show read-only access," Dima confirmed. "No changes were made."
That was something, at least. If Mishka had been gathering intelligence for O'Rourke, he could have done far more damage with direct access to our systems.
"What do we know about these specialists?" I asked, steering the conversation away from Mishka's potential betrayal and back to the immediate threat.
Yuri straightened, clearly relieved to be on more solid ground. "Seven in total, all with military or intelligence backgrounds. They've been moving around the city for the last twenty-four hours, setting up surveillance points around our territory."
"They've also been meeting with contacts in the police department," added Zev. "We have reason to believe they're preparing false documentation—warrants, perhaps—to give their operation an appearance of legitimacy."
Clever. O'Rourke was planning to use official channels to penetrate our defenses. The authorities wouldn't knowingly interfere with my syndicate's operations—our arrangements were too valuable to them—but with the right paperwork and enough confusion, O'Rourke's specialists might get close enough to cause real damage.
Or to take Mishka.
My bear roared at the thought, and I had to clench my fists to maintain control. The reaction didn't go unnoticed by my inner circle. They'd seen me angry before, seen me protective of my territory and people. But this was different. This was personal in a way none of my business had ever been.
"You believe the boy is worth this risk," Yuri observed quietly.
It wasn't a question.
I met his gaze directly. "You saw what happened to our systems last night. That was unintentional, unfocused. Imagine what someone like O'Rourke could do with that kind of ability if harnessed and controlled."
It was a partial truth. Yes, Mishka's power was extraordinary and potentially valuable. But that wasn't why my bear was snarling to be released, wasn't why every fiber of my being was straining to return to the apartment where he slept.
"Double the guards at all entry points," I ordered, my voice leaving no room for debate. "Review and reset all security protocols. And get me everything you can on O'Rourke's new players—their histories, weaknesses, known associates."
My team nodded, their expressions a mixture of concern and determination. Whatever their doubts about Mishka, their loyalty to me and the syndicate remained absolute.
"And Mishka?" Dima ventured.
"Is under my protection," I said firmly. "Anyone who approaches him without my explicit authorization will answerdirectly to me." I let a hint of my bear bleed into my eyes, a flash of amber that reminded them exactly what that meant.
They filed out of my office in silence, leaving only Yuri lingering by the door.
"A hundred years, Nicolai," he said quietly. "I've never seen you like this over anyone."
I didn't respond. There was nothing to say that wouldn't reveal more than I was willing to admit, even to myself.
Yuri sighed and followed the others, closing the door behind him with a soft click that somehow felt like the sealing of a fate.
After my team dispersed, I turned to the security monitor on my desk, fingers tapping the keyboard to bring up the feed from my private quarters. Mishka was stirring now, the sheets tangled around his waist as consciousness gradually reclaimed him.
I watched as his eyes fluttered open, confusion momentarily clouding his expression before memory returned. His hand reached across to the empty space beside him, fingers trailing over the sheets where I had lain hours before. Something in that simple, unconscious gesture made my chest tighten uncomfortably.
Then, like a mask sliding into place, his expression shifted. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by practiced neutrality that was somehow more revealing than any display of emotion could have been.
He sat up, scanning the room with the wariness of someone accustomed to waking in unfamiliar places and immediately assessing potential threats.
