I text my mom back, confirming I’ll be there, and start packing.
Three months in New York. Three months that changed everything and nothing. Three months of learning exactly how far curiosity can take you before it breaks you.
Chapter Six - Dimitri
Four years later, the empire stands stronger than ever.
I move through my days with the precision of a man who’s learned that hesitation kills. Meetings with city officials who pretend my donations don’t influence their votes. Acquisitions of properties whose previous owners suddenly find themselves motivated to sell. Negotiations where the threat never needs to be spoken because everyone in the room already knows what I’m capable of.
The Bratva has grown under Damien’s leadership, expanded into territories that should have been contested but weren’t. I’ve proven myself indispensable—the legitimate face of operations that can’t afford scrutiny, the businessman whose empire provides cover for money that needs to disappear and reappear clean.
I should be satisfied.
I’m not.
The exposé happened four years ago, and I still haven’t found who was responsible.
Someone spent months compiling evidence of my operations, tracing connections that should have been invisible, documenting patterns that implicated not just me but the entire structure we’d built.
ProPublica published it with enough corroboration that we couldn’t simply dismiss it as conspiracy theory.
The fallout was immediate and brutal. Federal investigations that Felix had to deflect through carefully placed bribes. City contracts that evaporated overnight. Projects delayed for months while we rebuilt relationships and reminded people why crossing the Rudenko family was a mistake.
It cost us millions. Worse, it cost us respect that took years to reclaim.
I never forgot.
Damien wanted blood immediately, wanted to make an example that would prevent anyone from ever trying something similar.
I convinced him to wait. Rushing would reveal desperation, and desperation is weakness. Better to hunt methodically, to uncover every thread until we knew exactly who orchestrated it and why.
Four years of searching. Four years of dead ends and false leads.
Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks.
I’m still looking.
Felix enters my office without knocking, carrying two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey I recognize as older than both of us combined.
“It’s Friday,” he says, pouring without asking. “You’ve been here since six this morning. Time to leave.”
“I have work.”
“Work will still be here Monday.” He slides a glass across my desk. “Oleg is insisting on Apex tonight. You know how he gets when you refuse.”
I do. Oleg’s idea of bonding involves overpriced bottle service and women who pretend interest lasts longer than the next transaction. Normally I avoid it. Tonight, the thought of going home to an empty penthouse holds even less appeal.
“Fine. One hour.”
“Three hours minimum or Oleg will sulk for a week.”
“Two.”
Felix’s mouth quirks. “I’ll tell him three, and you’ll leave after ninety minutes like you always do.”
Accurate.
I take the whiskey he’s poured, let the burn settle in my chest. Felix watches me with that pale-eyed assessment that misses nothing.
