While Vasili might expect a loud, messy turf war, I’m going to give him a surgical, suffocating ruin.
****
By the time Artem and I finally step out of the war room and back into the study, the darkness has been entirely lifted.
Warm rays of sunlight cut through the windows, forming shadows across the polished marble hallway.
My mind is already three steps ahead, but the immediate security of my perimeter comes first.
I stop at the top of the stairs, looking down at the men assembled in the foyer. The guards and enforcers stand at rigid attention as Artem briefs them.
The directives are clear and absolute: their priority is to protect the mansion, double the watch at the docks, and ensure Elena is never exposed to danger.
They know the penalty for failure. I don’t need to repeat it.
With the day’s operations set in motion, I walk back to my bedroom and push the heavy doors open, expecting to find her small form buried beneath the sheets, still cuddled up beneath the comforter.
But the room is empty, and the bed is neatly made up.
I pull out my phone and dial Mikhail. The second he picks up, I release a torrent of questions.
“What time did she leave?”
He pauses for a minute, and I kick off my shoes. “A few hours ago.”
“I want a visual on her. Who’s keeping watch?”
“Ace. And I have my eyes on her too, Leonid. There’s no need to worry.”
I stifle a chuckle at how quickly he shields the new recruit.
“I’m sending a link over to you now,” he says, and over the phone I hear a keyboard clicking. “It’s our view on her from all angles.”
A second later, a link to a secure stream pings onto my screen. I open it, staring at the live feed.
She’s at the docks, dressed in a white shirt and long khaki pants. A gentle breeze ruffles her hair, just like it did the first night I saw her, and my chest tightens with a volatile mix of caution and twisted fascination.
Throughout the morning, I handle the logistics of the upcoming operation while keeping one eye firmly on Elena.
Her video feed stays pinned to the corner of my tablet.
I note every movement, every turn of her head. She wanders the perimeter repeatedly, and I don’t need to be close to spot her curiosity.
Sometimes she pauses, staring at the vast sea and soaking in all the chaos around her, from the heavy machinery to the guards shifting positions to the crates being loaded.
I know when someone thinks they’re being clever. That poorly hidden confidence and inquisitiveness under the cloak of naivety is a dead giveaway. And right now, Elena’s guilty.
I can sense it in the deliberate slowness of her pace. She’s up to something, trying to piece together a puzzle she doesn’t fully understand yet.
A smarter man would consider locking her back in the basement and making sure she never sees the light of day again.
But I’m not most men. I decide to allow her this illusion of freedom, giving her just enough room to move around, fully intending to watch her play her hand and uncover whatever little plan she’s cooking up.
What I don’t do is play games with my livelihood.
While she watches my men, I talk to Mikhail, quietly reshaping the board around her.
If she wants to look, she can. But she’ll only see what I choose to show her. Strategically, I set invisible traps within the shipping schedules, altering manifests and arrival times to completely throw off anyone looking too closely.
