Our eyes meet for half a second. She looks away first.
I finish my remarks and step back to let the head of operations wrap things up. Crawford thanks us for coming. The crowd begins to disperse, and I watch her slip toward the door without looking back.
Pavel appears at my elbow. “We need to discuss the personnel files. I’ve flagged several employees who may have ties to the Volkov operation.”
Right. The reason I’m actually here.
The hostile takeover went smoothly. Too smoothly, almost. Vasiliev Industries crumbled in less than two weeks, andtheir leadership was ousted before they could mount any real defense. The Bratva backers behind the company—the Volkov family, led by Oleg—didn’t lift a finger to stop me.
They couldn’t. Not without starting a war that would cost them far more than one front company. Konstantin made our family’s position in this city crystal clear years ago, and the Volkovs know better than to challenge it outright. So they let it happen. They watched me gut their operation and absorb the pieces into my own empire. I can only imagine how much that must have burned. The man has a reputation for holding grudges, and I just handed him a big one.
The employees think it was a standard corporate merger, and I intend to keep it that way. No need to cause panic among people who have nothing to do with the underworld. Most of them are just accountants and analysts trying to pay their mortgages.
But some of them aren’t. Some of them are Volkov plants, embedded in the company to keep an eye on things. I need to identify them before they can cause problems.
“How many?” I ask Pavel.
“Seven confirmed. Another twelve possibles.” He hands me a tablet with the files already pulled up. “I recommend terminating the confirmed ones immediately. The possibles we can monitor for now.”
I scroll through the names and faces. Middle managers. IT staff. A few people in finance. None of them rings any bells, and none of them looks particularly threatening. But that’s the point. The best plants never do.
“Do it,” I tell him. “But make it look like standard restructuring layoffs. I don’t want to tip off the Volkovs that we know who their people are.”
“Understood. I’ll have it done by the end of the day.”
Pavel walks away, already typing on his phone. I turn back to check the room, but she’s gone. Vanished into the maze of cubicles and conference rooms that make up this floor.
I should let it go. Focus on the task at hand. I have a company to integrate and enemies to neutralize. A mystery woman from a one-night stand shouldn’t even register on my list of priorities.
Instead, I find myself making a decision I never planned on.
“Crawford.” I catch the department head before he can escape to whatever hole he hides in. “I’ll need an office in this building. Something on the executive floor.”
He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Of course, Mr. Karpov. I assumed you’d be operating from your main headquarters downtown.”
“Change of plans. I want to be hands-on during the transition. Get me set up as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have facilities clear out the corner office immediately.”
By three o’clock, I have a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Chicago skyline. It’s smaller than what I’m used to, and the furniture is standard corporate issue rather than the custom pieces I prefer. But it’ll do. More importantly, it puts me on the same floor as her.
I pull up the employee directory on my new computer and start going through personnel files one by one.
Until I find her.
Kirsten Berry. Data analyst. Started eight months ago. Performance reviews are excellent across the board. Her supervisor calls her “detail-oriented” and “exceptionally thorough.” Her accuracy rate is ninety-eight percent, which is impressive for someone who hasn’t even been here a year.
I eye her employee photo. It doesn’t do her justice. The fluorescent lighting washes out her skin, and she’s not smiling. But those eyes are the same. Dark and knowing, like she’s taking note of everything she sees and filing it away for later.
I pick up my phone and dial her extension.
It rings twice before she answers. “Kirsten Berry.”
“Ms. Berry. This is Menlow Karpov. I’d like to see you in my office.”
A pause, just long enough to notice, before she replies, “Of course, Mr. Karpov. When would you like me to come up?”
“Now.”
