Page 20 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

“I think I might be onto something,” Ben says suddenly.

My attention sharpens.

Every useless thought disappears just as quickly as it arrived.

I rotate my chair back toward him.

Ben is already sliding a file across the desk toward me.

And just like that, the girl with blue eyes ceases to exist in my mind entirely.

***

I meet Karl three days later.

The warehouse is on the outskirts of the city—abandoned enough to avoid attention, maintained enough to suggest ownership. A neutral ground. Not my territory. Not his. Which means neither of us trusts the other, and both of us are right not to.

The constant rain has stopped, but the air still carries the scent of damp metal and old concrete.

I arrive with Ben.

He insisted on coming like always, and I allowed it. Not because I needed him in the room, but because he is useful when reading shifts in atmosphere I sometimes overlook.

The doors are already open when we arrive.

That alone tells me something.

Karl is confident. Or prepared. Or both.

We step inside.

The interior is dim, lit by hanging industrial bulbs that flicker softly overhead. Shadows stretch too long across stacked crates and empty floor space.

Ben moves slightly behind my shoulder, silent but alert.

I feel him more than I see him.

And then I see Karl Jonathan.

He’s sitting, relaxed. One leg crossed over the other, as if this is a scheduled appointment rather than a controlled exchange between two dangerous men.

“Lukyan Rusnak,” he says, voice smooth. “On time.”

“Let’s not waste any time.” I take the chair across from him.

Ben shifts subtly behind me, but says nothing.

Karl’s gaze flicks to him briefly. Acknowledges him. Dismisses him. Then returns to me.

Karl studies me like I’m a problem he’s already solved, just waiting for confirmation. “You’ve been circling something for months,” he says. “I assume you finally noticed I was already inside the circle.”

My expression doesn’t change. “Speak.”

He exhales lightly, almost amused.

He rises slowly, adjusting his coat as he does. Everything about him is controlled. Deliberate. Like even his movements are negotiated in advance.

“You’re looking for a dormant financial network,” he says.