The seat he pointed out is on the opposite side of him, and at the far end. It suits me fine. Within moments of me and Aleksei sitting, one of the guards appears and whispers in Aleksei’s ear before going back out, returning moments later with the same women from last night—Olga and Catalina.
I have their faces burned into my memory. And they must feel the weight of my judgment because they both look at me as soon as they walk into the office. Sergey ends his call, points where he wants them sitting, then starts speaking at them.
I spend the entire time they’re having their meeting watching the women, I mean, it’s not like I understand a word they’re saying since they stick to Russian. The younger woman, Catalina, is very pretty, and she doesn’t hold the same cold callousness as Olga. Honestly, the first time I looked at Olga, I knew she and I would never be friends. All my internal alarms sound whenever I even think of her name. Seeing her again today, all I can think is she is a washed-out, female version of Sergey. Don’t get me wrong—she might be weaker than him but is no less dangerous. Her ambition to succeed is clear, and obviously given the company she’s keeping, she’s more than happy to do whatever it takes to be successful.
Catalina is different. Given she’s here, though, she’s not innocent. It’s obvious Olga runs the show and Catalina is the lackey.
Things get interesting when Catalina struggles with getting a document to open on her laptop. Instead of helping, Olga interrupts Sergey before giving Catalina a mouthful. It’s unnecessary and humiliating. As much as I want to jump in and defend Catalina, I refuse to support anyone involved in the heinous practice of child trafficking.
The meeting gets back on track after Olga snatches control of the mouse and opens the document herself. She doesn’t give the task back to Catalina, which is, again, unnecessarily rude and only confirms what a bitch Olga is. Not my circus, not my monkeys. I sit back, ignoring the heightened tension in the room and spend the entire time they’re all speaking watching the screen.
It’s a good thing numbers are universal. The spreadsheets are self-explanatory, the descriptions not so much. What is clear is that it's a very profitable hustle they’re running. I’d like a copy of the spreadsheet; it would be irrefutable proof of what they are doing and who is involved, but that’s not about to happen. I do the best I can and focus on trying to memorize as many as the numbers as possible.
Occasionally, I take a break from studying the screen by feigning boredom and start inspecting my nails. But I’m actually using an old study hack I learned in medical school. Thankfully, I don’t seem to have lost the knack. Each time I double-check the numbers I saw, I confirm I’ve recalled them to match what is up on the screen.
The meeting wraps up. Sergey walks the women to the door before he raises his hand and interrupts them, looking at his brother. “What time did we say for dinner?”
“Eight o’clock.”
Sergey nods before walking off with the women. His men trail behind him, and after a few more minutes, there’s the unmistakable sound of cars driving off.
Aleksei leaves me sitting in the meeting room, so I grab my bag and start scribbling all the numbers down. I’m a little distracted by him with Nalla, though; they’re so commanding as they walk through the warehouse together. Luckily, I can multitask.
He checks everywhere again, following the same route he did when we first arrived. This time, it’s as if he’s seeing or checking things differently. My Omega side reads a lot into his action, and as a woman, I lean into his obvious need to check I am safe.
Once he is satisfied, he calls to Kade and Santiago, who were waiting outside. Dropping all pretexts of being busy with something in my bag, I sit back and enjoy the sight of them together, imagining we’re far away from here. When they join me in the office, they don’t sit and I don’t stand.
Aleksei’s eyes move purposely to a few spots in the office and outside of it. I watch Kade, then Santiago looking to see what Aleksei does, and then I see them noticing the cameras when I do.
There's a message in his action, and none of us talk. I grab my bag and set it on my lap again, pulling out a notebook, going back to writing out what I remember. Aleksei sits and works quietly on his laptop until his phone rings, and he leaves the office again.
When he returns, his mood has changed, his energy back to being jittery in his unspoken anger. “Come, Sergey asked me to show you around.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
SANTIAGO
It’s hard being in Aleksei’s presence and not killing him. If Quinn wasn’t with us, I’m positive I would have pulled the trigger or stabbed him a hundred times already. He’s given me plenty of openings, and while I’d be fulfilling Ronin’s request-slash-demand, I’m more motivated to kill him for me.
My mobile vibrates in my hand, Valentine’s name flashing on the screen, but I mute the call before it rings a second time.
“Stay close to Kade,” I whisper in her ear before I fall back to speak with Valentine in private. I dial his number and he answers before it rings twice.
“You hung up on my wife?” he snarls, and my stomach drops. In frustration. Seriously, the De Lucas view anything, and everything, as an offense when it comes to their wife.
“I don’t have time for you acting like this right now,” I snap back, meeting his aggression with my own. “Put the better—no, the best—part of your pack on the phone.”
He chuckles, and even with all the distance between us, I can feel his mood dropping from here. His voice is calm, but he is not. “And now instead of apologizing, you’re telling me what to do?”
I stop walking, squeezing my eyes shut as rage clouds our kinship. I don’t want to lose control and start yelling at Valentine, but I’m so close to losing it. We’ve had a good working relationship up to now, sometimes I’d even call him a friend, but he’s unnecessarily pushing boundaries.
While neither of us is speaking, I hear the soft but insistent voice of Layne in the background. And then I hear Valentine growling as his anger keeps rising. He clears his throat, starts counting backward, getting down to zero before he speaks to me again.
“Santiago, my friend.” His voice catches, and what he says is laced in sarcasm as he physically struggles to concede. He’s only trying because Layne is there, forcing him to be nicer. “I apologize for being rude. My darling wife is driving me crazy because she should be in bed, relaxing, but instead, she and Dante are working. Her heat is approaching.”
“In a week, Valentine! In a bloody week. Give me the phone.” A rustle sounds as she wrestles the phone from him. But before she speaks to me, she’s talking with him again. “Did you apologize properly? Val, look at me.”
A door slams before I hear a soft, feminine inhale. “Hey, Santiago, sorry about that. I didn’t take any offense that you hung up on me.”
