Sergei flips open another file. “The shooters missed your tires on purpose. They aimed for the windows. Kill shot, not a warning.”
“And the second car?” I ask.
Sergei shakes his head. “Gone before we arrived. Ghosted the streets.”
I drag a hand across my jaw, remembering the glint of headlights behind me, the burst of gunfire, the instinctive lurch of the wheel as I outran them. And the way my mind—stupidly—went to Zatanna in the middle of chaos.
I shouldn’t have called her.
And yet I had.
Anton clears his throat. “Boss… if they knew your route, someone’s watching your movements closely.”
Dimitri adds, “Could be your father. Could be someone working for him. Or someone from the Moscow council who doesn’t like the will's… rumors.”
I straighten, the tension settling into my shoulders like armor.
“What about the driver of the sedan?”
“Dead before we got there,” Sergei answers. “Single shot to the head. Execution-style. Someone didn’t want him talking.”
Well, that’s convenient. Predictable. And fucking irritating.
I pace, the leather of my shoes echoing in the high-ceilinged room. “So we have organized shooters, Russian ammo, a stolen car, a cleanup kill, and perfect timing.”
“Looks that way,” Anton agrees.
“And we have a second vehicle capable of tailing me without losing distance.” I stop pacing. “Which means they’re trained. Possibly military.”
Silence falls.
Sergei finally says, “This isn’t random, Aleksei. Whoever did this knows your patterns. Knows your weaknesses.”
Weaknesses.A bitter laugh threatens to escape.
If they knew anything about my weaknesses, they’d know the biggest one is a woman currently sitting in my skyscraperwearing soft sweaters and looking at me like she’s not sure if she should run from me or kiss me again.
Focus.
I turn to my men. “I want eyes everywhere. Double security rotations. No one moves without checking in. I expect a list of every enemy with motive by the end of the day.”
Sergei nods immediately.
“And find out,” I add, voice dropping, “if my father was in the city last night.”
Because if he was… Then this is no longer business.
It’s personal.
Anton shifts uneasily. “If your father is behind it?—”
“I’ll deal with him.” My voice is quiet but sharp enough to cut. “He won’t get my inheritance. He won’t get control. Not while I breathe.”
The men nod, understanding the weight of the words.
Sergei is mid-sentence, pointing to a blown-up image of shell casings on the screen. “Based on the angle of dispersion, we think?—”
The boardroom doors slam open. All four of us turn.
