“How does that bring us back to the Russian?” Finn asks, and I shoot him a death glare.
“Why don’t we give Sera a chance to explain?” Elizabeth shoots me a wink behind Brady’s back, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Brady exhales hard, scrubbing a hand over his face before crossing his arms. “Fine. Where did this brilliant idea for me to hire bratva muscle come from, and what does it—” His eyes narrow. “Actually—how do you know him?”
Okay, this will be the tricky part.
“I was following Elizabeth’s advice and went to a clu?—”
“Stop.” Brady’s face goes pale, then red. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“For the love of God,” Elizabeth cuts in. “Do you honestly think your sister is trying to get a man a job because she slept with him?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I didn’t meet him like that,” I hurry to say. “It’s where I got jumped. He happened to come by, and he… helped me.”
Brady’s gaze falls to where I’m picking at my cuticles, and his expression creases with concern. “Ser?—”
“Look, I owe him. Huge. He risked his life to save me, and there were… repercussions. He has to lie low for a bit…” I hold his gaze. “This would settle my debt to him. It’s just temporary.”
The door on the second-floor landing above us bangs open, and Vincent emerges, his phone pressed to his ear. Vincent takes one look at us gathered below and ends the call, descending the steps. “What’s going on?”
“Your story explains something I was going to bring up this morning.” Finn leans against one of the open desks in the center of the room. Pulling off the glasses he wears when he is working long hours in front of the monitors, he rubs at his eyes. “I have monitoring alerts set on all of us—every employee at Elite. Not surveillance—just flags for unusual digital activity. There was a spike in searches about Sera this weekend. One was an IP address I recognized as connected to Koval Industries. When we were sharing information last summer, that was theIP the emails originated from. The other IPs were mostly local residential, but one wasn’t.”
Brady glances at me before turning his narrowed eyes on Finn. “Explain without using any of your cyber-nerd shit.”
“So rude,” Finn tsked. “When I was tracing the unknown IP, it bounced all over the place. Routed through multiple countries, and rotating VPNs. That level of coverage is unusual for the average internet user, but not if he’s a member of the Russian bratva.”
“I told my story in group therapy for the first time,” I say, not making eye contact with anyone. “People in the group probably Googled me afterward.”
Finn nods. “And your Russian boyfriend would explain the other one, if he looked you up at work and then later at home.” I can tell he’s trying not to smirk, and I vow that the next time we’re in the ring, I’m not pulling any punches.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I grind out, even as heat floods my face. “He helped me. That’s it.”
I can feel everyone’s eyes on me and do my best not to fidget. They know I’m in therapy, but I’ve never shared with any of them the details of what I went through. I know they can’t help but be curious. So, to ward off questions I say, “Now, about hiring Liev for Elizabeth’s client’s job…”
Vincent shrugs, his expression impassive. “We’ve worked with him before. He could do it.”
“He’s a bloodthirsty thug.”
“No, he’s not,” I snap at my brother. “He’s actually really nice and…” I stop, realizing I’ve given myself away.
Brady glares at me. “How old is he again?”
I bristle. “I don’t know. Probably younger than you. What does that have to do with anything?”
“He’s too old for you,” Brady shoots back.
My face flames, but I keep my voice cool. “I never said I was interested. This is about a job. I owe him. Period.”
Vincent lets out a rough chuckle. “That explains the phone calls I just got. Alex Kovalyov called to clarify that there wouldn’t be bad blood if we hired a member of the bratva, and Declan Bloom called to tell me that if Liev Kovalyov needed a character reference, he’d vouch for him.”
“Are character references a thing we do?” Finn laughs.
Brady whirls on me, face thunderous. “What the fuck, Sera? Did you promise him a job?”
I wince. “Not exactly.”
Brady shoves his hands back through his hair with a groan and then clasps them on top of his head as he yells to the ceiling. “Fucking Fuck!”
