This rumor put me on alert. In the underworld, any talkof "retirement" or "going soft" could be weaponized by enemies as signs of weakening power.
"What rumors?"
"People say you've been scarce at important events, turned down several deals you might've taken before. You know how it is in our circle—everyone over-analyzes every detail." Dmitri shrugged. "Of course, I know it's not true. You're just being more selective about opportunities."
I nodded, but alarm bells were ringing. Maybe I did need to be more visible publicly, at least until Anna and Sofia's situation stabilized.
The next hour, I had conversations with several key players—surface-level pleasant but full of probing underneath. Everyone was assessing everyone else's strength and intentions, every word potentially carrying multiple meanings. These were the rules of New York's power circles—elegant facades hiding ruthless competition.
I discussed "efficiency issues" in dock management with Port Authority officials, talked Brooklyn "revitalization projects" with real estate developers, then exchanged views on city security with several police commissioners. All seemingly casual, but my mind stayed on Anna.
"Alexander, long time no see."
A familiar perfume drifted over—Chanel Gabrielle, elegant and seductive. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Tatyana Romanova, daughter of another prominent New York mafia family, and my ex-girlfriend. She wore a deep blue silk dress that perfectly outlined her curves. Her golden hair was elegantly twisted into a low chignon, exposing her long neck, those ice-blue eyes still as sharp and alluring as ever.
Her smile was still perfect, but I'd become immune to it. Compared to Anna's natural beauty, Tatyana's looked too polished, too perfect—like an expensive piece of art. Beautiful but cold.
"Tatyana." I nodded politely, tone cool but courteous. In this setting, surface civility had to be maintained, especially facing a Romanov family representative.
"You look... different," she said, elegantly raising her glass of cognac. "More... gentle? Any interesting changes in your life lately?"
Her blue eyes roamed over me, searching for something.
"Life's always changing." I kept it short, not wanting to give her any opening for deeper conversation.
Our history was complicated. Five years ago, when I'd just inherited the family business, the Romanova family had helped me complete my revenge, eliminating the enemies who'd killed my father. Tatyana, as part of the arrangement, became my girlfriend. But that relationship was based more on family interests than genuine feelings.
"I heard you've been making new... investments in Brooklyn?" She shifted to business talk, but her eyes held complex emotions. "If you need partners, my family would be happy to participate. After all, we used to be such good partners."
Her last words carried obvious implications—not just about business partnerships.
"My business arrangements don't need outside concern." I coldly rejected her hint. "If your family has proposals, go through official channels."
Her smile became somewhat wounded, pain flashing in those blue eyes. "Outsiders? Alexander, do we really have to be this distant? We used to..."
"That's in the past." I cut her off.
She took a deep breath, recomposing herself, returning to that business-like elegance. "I understand. But Alexander, I hear you've been making some... interesting friends lately. Sometimes, choice of friends can affect someone's standing in certain circles."
Her words put me on high alert. Knowing Tatyana, she never spoke without purpose.
"What do you mean?"
But her eyes had turned cold. "Exactly that. I heard you've been quite interested in community development projects lately? Brooklyn housing renovation plans. Such admirable social responsibility."
Her tone carried sarcasm, making me increasingly wary. "Tatyana, what are yougetting at?"
"Nothing special." She said, elegantly sipping her drink. "I just also heard that area's had some complex situations recently. Some journalists seem particularly interested in local development plans. You know how journalists are—always love digging deep into stories, sometimes they might get... overly enthusiastic."
Her blue eyes stared directly at me, the implications crystal clear.
"Media attention is normal." I stayed calm.
"Of course, of course," she nodded with an understanding smile. "Though sometimes, excessive attention can bring unexpected consequences. Especially when such attention involves sensitive business arrangements. You understand what I mean?"
She paused, then added as if casually, "I heard a female journalist was quite... active at a demolition site today. Must have excellent photography skills, able to capture many interesting details. I hope she knows which images are suitable for publication and which might attract unnecessary attention."
