Page 30 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

I stand in the center of the concrete floor wearing dark jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and my leather jacket, watching my men unload crates from the latest shipment that arrived six hours late at the port.

The delay was minor, a miscommunication between the dock supervisor and the transport crew, but I don't tolerate sloppiness in my operation.

Especially not now, when we're in the middle of delicate merger negotiations that could reshape the entire power structure of this city.

I pull out the manifest and scan the list of contents, checking each item against what's actually being unloaded.

My captains know better than to cut corners when I'm personally overseeing inventory, and they move with efficiency, calling out container numbers and contents as they work.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across the warehouse floor, and the sound of metal scraping against concrete echoes through the space every time another crate is set down.

Everything appears to be in order.

The shipment contains exactly what it's supposed to contain, and the delay hasn't caused any real problems beyond forcing me to spend my Saturday night in a fucking warehouse instead of somewhere more comfortable.

Still, I make notes on the manifest about the communication breakdown and which supervisor needs to be reminded that punctuality isn't optional in my organization.

One of my men, a captain who's been with the family for fifteen years, approaches with a clipboard. "Everything's accounted for," he says, his voice respectful but not obsequious. I don't keep men around who grovel, but I also don't keep men around who forget their place. He understands the balance. "The dock supervisor wants to apologize personally for the delay."

"Tell him I don't want apologies," I say, signing off on the manifest and handing it back. "I want it not to happen again. If it does, he can find work somewhere else."

My captain nods and moves away to relay the message.

I watch the rest of the unloading process for another twenty minutes, making sure everything is secured properly and that the inventory is logged correctly in our system.

The warehouse is one of several properties the Vasiliev family controls along the waterfront, and it's critical that operations here run smoothly.

Any weakness in our supply chain could be exploited by rivals, and I refuse to give anyone that opportunity.

By the time I'm satisfied that everything is handled, it's nearly eleven at night. I'm pulling off my gloves and heading toward the exit when my phone rings.

The caller ID shows it's one of my security contacts at the Ivory Wolf, which immediately puts me on alert.

The club should be running smoothly on a Saturday night, and my people know better than to call me unless there's a problem worth my attention.

"What is it?" I answer, my tone making it clear I expect this to be important.

"Sir, I thought you should know that both Stepanov and Lenkov were here earlier tonight," the voice on the other end says. It's one of the bartenders, a man who's been on my payroll for years specifically to keep an eye on things and report anything unusual. "They were both acting strange. Stepanov was questioning Sharon, the waitress. Lenkov showed up after and watched them for a while before approaching Stepanov at the bar."

I feel irritation flare hot in my chest. "What were they asking about?"

"I couldn't hear the full conversation, but Sharon looked nervous and uncomfortable. After Stepanov left, Lenkov stayed for a few minutes and then left too. It seemed like they were both interested in something she knew."

Fuck.

"Anything else?" I ask, keeping my voice controlled despite the anger building inside me.

"No, sir. That's all I observed."

"Keep watching. Let me know if either of them comes back." I end the call and shove the phone back into my pocket, my jaw tight with frustration.

This is exactly what we don't need right now. During sensitive merger negotiations, when we're trying to consolidate three powerful families into one unified organization, the last thing any of us should be doing is getting distracted by a woman.

Especially a woman who's already slept with all three of us and might be a potential security risk.

But apparently Russ and Alex can't let it go. And if they're both sniffing around Sharon asking questions about Marla, that means they're both thinking about pursuing her.

Which means this situation is about to get a hell of a lot more complicated than it already is.