Chapter Six - Aleksandr
The alert hits my phone at 11:53 p.m.
I’m in the car heading home, half listening to Viktor discuss tomorrow’s meeting with the Volkov family, when the screen lights up with a security notification from the east Moscow facility.
UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED - TERMINAL 3F-7 - DATA EXTRACTION IN PROGRESS
I sit up straighter, irritation cutting through my exhaustion. “Pull over.”
Viktor glances at me. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer, already pulling up the security feed on my phone. The app connects to the facility’s surveillance system, showing me a grid of camera angles across multiple floors.
Terminal 3F-7. Third floor, server room. A place that requires specific credentials and authorization that very few people have.
I tap the camera feed and watch the footage from five minutes ago.
Someone in a cleaning uniform enters the server room. Small frame, movements careful and deliberate. They pull out a laptop from under their supplies—not standard cleaning equipment—and plug directly into the terminal.
Amateur hour. Except not entirely, because they knew which room to target, which terminal stays active, and they got past security without triggering alerts until now.
I zoom in on the figure’s face, enhanced resolution cutting through the grainy quality.
My breath stops when I realize she’s Elena Lawrence.
Of all the possible scenarios, all the ways she could have responded to her family’s collapse, this is the one she chose.
She walked directly into Bratva territory, disguised herself as cleaning staff, and broke into my facility to steal evidence of what I’m doing to her family.
Amusement cuts through my irritation like a knife. Bold. Daring. Monumentally stupid. Somehow, against all logic, impressive.
I watch her work, fingers flying across the keyboard, transferring files onto what looks like an encrypted drive. She’s focused, efficient, clearly knows what she’s looking for. Not random theft. Targeted intelligence gathering.
She did her homework. Planned this. Spent time researching my operations, identifying vulnerabilities, gathering resources she doesn’t have.
All to prove what? That I’m dismantling her family? She already knows that. Everyone knows that. The only question is whether she’s suicidal enough to think evidence will save her.
Apparently, she is.
“Change of plans,” I tell Viktor. “We’re going to the east facility.”
He doesn’t ask why. Just signals the driver and pulls out his phone, already alerting security that I’m en route.
I keep watching the footage. Elena finishes her transfer, shoves the drive into her pocket, and starts cleaning up her workspace. Two men enter the server room—I recognize them, mid-level operations staff. They question her. She lies, smooth and confident, spinning some story about building maintenance.
The men buy it. Or one of them does, convincing the other to let it go.
She’s good at this. Better than she should be. The lying, the composure under pressure, the ability to think fast when cornered.
I wonder what else she’s good at when cornered.
The thought settles low in my gut, darker than curiosity.
“How long?” I ask the driver.
“Fifteen minutes, sir.”
Too long. She’ll be gone by then, disappeared back into whatever hole she crawled out of, taking stolen data and misplaced courage with her.
