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"Enough," I bark. The last thing I need is Lev's idea of 'fun' derailing years of hard work. “Get your mind out of the gutter and back into the game.”
“Who says I can’t play two at the same time?” Lev eggs me on. “Tell me. Is that Veronika only into you, or do you think she’d be up for some fun with one of us younger Zolotovs?” he winks at Damien. Damien frowns and ignores him.
"Get serious, Lev," I say, my frustration growing stronger. "This isn't child's play. We're talking about our future here, not just another night out on the town."
"Always so grim, Boris," he laughs, and I see the spark of challenge light up in his gaze. He enjoys this.Causing trouble. "I'll get serious when life does."
"Life has been serious since the day our parents were killed," I shoot back, hoping my words would anchor him to the gravity of our reality. "Grow up."
He shrugs, the gesture a slap in the face to my plea, and saunters out, leaving me alone with Damien. “Damien, can you please make the final changes to the presentation before theinvestors arrive from the airport? It’s good to know I can depend on you, at least.”
“You’ve got it, Boris,” Damien nods, and leaves my office.
Thirty minutes slip by faster than I’d like, yet not fast enough. Each second is heavy and nerve-wracking.
Then she appears—Anoushka, my sister, the youngest Zolotov, with the fire of a thousand suns burning in her blue-green eyes.
"Brother," Anoushka peeks in, a playful smile on her dimpled cheeks, "I thought I’d drop by to wish you luck, but I’m afraid I discovered trouble on the way in."
I straighten, every muscle tensing, ready for combat or catastrophe—it makes no difference which. "What is it, Anoushka?"
"Outside," she replies cryptically, pointing a manicured finger behind her shoulder.
"Lead the way." My heart races as I follow her.
The moment I step out of my office, the air crackles with tension and the muted sounds of whispers. Anoushka's heels click urgently against the marble as she leads me through the labyrinthine corridors of our stronghold. We turn a corner, and I freeze as I walk into the lobby and hear the sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin through the speakerphones.
“Is that…” I begin.
“The sound of someone having sex? Hell yeah,” she nods. “And wait ‘til you find out who.”
Then I hear my brother’s voice as he moans out Veronika’s name.
"Lev," I growl under my breath as we approach the lounge, where sounds that have no place in a business settingecho louder through the walls. My fists clench at my sides; this is not the first time Lev's recklessness threatens to topple what we've built.
Then I see them—Veronika and Lev, tangled together. They have their backs to us. He has her bent over the desk, her skirt hitched up, and he’s got her hair clasped through his hands, pounding her, their indiscretion on full display through the glass wall separating the lounge from the foyer.
“Why didn’t someone stop them?” I ask out loud. A few of my employees look away, their faces red.
“And who exactly would wish to do that, brother?” Anoushka rolls her eyes. “It certainly won’t be me.”
I look around in desperation, deciding if I should be the one to stop this horrific and extremely inappropriate situation or if there’s someone else I can send in the line of fire when I stop in my tracks.
Right there, witnessing the sordid performance, stand our investors, their faces twisted in disgust, Russian curses tumbling from their lips like a litany of impending doom.
"Chyort voz'mi!"Damn it—I curse, feeling the sharp sting of embarrassment cut through me. What has Lev gotten us into now?
If our cousin Ivan hears of this, I fear what might become of his aid. I quickly approach our investors.
“Thank you, Mr. Popov, Mr. Russo, and everyone else, for coming here all this way. If you’d please follow me,” I try to lead them to the conference room to salvage what I can.
Despite my attempt, Anatoly Popov stops me in my tracks. “Is this how you welcome your guests?” he asks, infuriated.
“Trust me, this is a shock to my entire company,” I wave my arms gracefully to the clearly shaken-up spectators. “Perhaps if we could go to a quieter room…”
"That won’t be happening, Zolotov," Gerald Russo spits, his eyes dark pits of fury. "This is not how we do business."
"Of course," I say, barely containing the volcanic anger rising within me toward Lev. "My apologies. This is not who we are." I try to make them see reason, to look past Lev's foolishness. It will be difficult to convince Gerald Russo to give us another shot. I know how he looks down at us, but he is fearful of Ivan, and if I bank on that, I might be able to play my cards right. "Let us reschedule. I assure you, everything will be handled with the utmost professionalism."
