“Damien won’t approve.”
“Damien doesn’t need to know. Not yet, and not until we have proof.”
Felix turns back to face me, pale eyes assessing. “What happens when we do, when you can prove she nearly destroyed us?”
Good question.
I imagine dragging her into the same gutted warehouse where this all started, making her understand exactly what her investigation cost. Lives disrupted. Territories lost. Blood spilled to reclaim what the exposé took from us.
I imagine watching her face when she realizes the full scope of what she did—not just damage to my business empire, but the ripple effects through the entire Bratva structure. The people who paid for her idealism with broken bones and disappeared opportunities.
I imagine her on her knees, begging for mercy she won’t receive. The fantasy should satisfy something dark in me.
“We’ll decide that when the time comes,” I say instead.
Felix nods slowly. “What will you do if it wasn’t her?”
“Then I wasted some money on a marketing contract, and we all move on.”
He doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe myself.
After Felix leaves, I pour a drink I won’t finish and return to the window. The city stretches below me, indifferent and eternal. Somewhere out there, Janice is probably in her apartment, processing the same shock I felt in that boardroom.
Wondering if I know. Calculating her options. Preparing for whatever comes next.
My phone buzzes. A message from the surveillance team Felix already has in place—because of course he does. Felix anticipates everything.
Subject arrived home 7:47 PM. No outgoing calls. Laptop activity shows internet searches for “Rudenko Industries,” “breach of contract,” and “conflict of interest disclosure.”
Smart. She’s already looking for ways to extract herself from this situation.
I won’t let her.
***
The next three days, I’m consumed by thoughts of her.
In meetings, I catch myself wondering what she’s doing. Whether she’s already strategizing campaigns for our account or trying to find loopholes in the contract that would let her walk away. Whether she’s sleeping, or if memories keep her awake the way they do me.
Whether anyone has touched her the way I did.
The thought ignites something violent in my chest. Four years is a long time. She’s twenty-four now, beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with conventional standards and everything to do with intelligence and curves and the particular challenge she represents.
Of course someone has touched her.
The idea makes my blood boil in ways I have no right to feel.
Oleg notices during a Thursday meeting about the Battery Park acquisition. I lose track of the conversation somewhere between permit timelines and projected ROI, mind drifting to the way Janice had looked at me across that conference table.
Terrified. Defiant. Still so goddamn beautiful it physically hurts.
“Dimitri.” Oleg’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Repeat it.”
“The holdouts on the third floor are threatening legal action. Claims we’re violating tenant rights laws.”
“Pay them off. Triple their relocation package if you have to.”
