Pushing off the desk, I close the distance in two strides. She backs up until she hits the glass wall overlooking the warehouse floor.
I slam my hands against the glass on either side of her head, caging her in, and lean close.
"You think you have a choice?" I growl, inches from her face. "You think you get to have morals now?"
"I won't help you," she whispers, trembling.
"You already have," I remind her. "You’re already a criminal. You signed the Atlantic Loop. You’re in the mud with me."
I lower my head, my lips brushing her ear.
"This ship leaves in three days. You’ll sign the return manifest. You’ll authorize the explosives. And you’ll do it with a smile."
"Or what?" she challenges, though her voice breaks. "You'll kill me?"
I pull back enough to look her in the eye. I don't threaten her father explicitly. I don't need to.
I let the weight of the violence she has witnessed settle between us. I let her remember the sound of Petrov's ribs cracking. I let her see the monster that I am.
"Sign the papers, Helena," I command. It’s final.
She stares at me, searching for mercy, but finds none.
She knows. She knows exactly what happens if she says no.
Defeated, she nods. She reaches for the pen, her hand shaking violently as she scrawls her name across the authorization line.
"Good girl," I whisper.
I step back, buttoning my cuffs.
"Ivan is waiting for the code. Don't keep him waiting."
11
KONSTANTIN
She’s a queen in a glass cage, unaware that the walls are see-through.
I stand in the shadows of my office, high above the concrete floor of the warehouse my men call The Meat Grinder. The air stinks of rust and bleach rising from the drains. It’s a brutal contrast to the clean, expensive world my captive is accustomed to.
I stare at the central monitor on my desk. It displays a live, high-def feed of Office 301 in the Blackwood Tower, five miles away.
I had the camera installed the second I took the company. It's a pinhole lens, hidden inside the smoke detector above her desk. It gives me a god’s-eye view of everything Helena Blackwood does.
She’s sitting there now, clueless that I’m watching the rise and fall of her chest from across the city.
I switch the feed to Camera 4—the Loading Dock.
Down below, the massive yellow mining drills are being hoisted by cranes. They’re the size of houses, covered in industrial grease and warning stickers.
To the customs inspectors, they look like machinery bound for the gold mines. And technically, they are.
It's the perfect camouflage. This legitimate delivery buys us the entry permit into the cartel's territory. But when theLady Anastasiacomes back, she won't be carrying ore. She'll be heavy with the hardware that wins this war.
I switch back to the main feed.
Lev drove her to the office an hour ago with strict instructions:Make it loud.
