He wanted to show off—wanted me impressed, loyal, shaped into whatever version of him he thought I could become. So he started handing me pieces of his empire like trophies.
Ledgers. Contacts. Routes.
I took them.
I read everything.
But I didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. I kept my face stone-cold, swallowing the rage even as it burned like gasoline in my veins.
The first ledger looked harmless enough.
Numbers. Codes. Neat little notes in the margins.
Then I turned the page.
Name: Kirill Truscov
Age: 6
Rate: Standard
Status: Processed
Notes: Quiet. Compliant.
My fingers tightened on the paper until it creased.
I kept reading.
Another page.
Name: Elizaveta Kirienko
Age: 4
Rate: Premium
Status: Awaiting transfer
Notes: Good condition
My jaw locked.
I flipped faster.
Pages blurred together. Countries. Dates. Payments routed through ghost companies. Shipments labeled “humanitarian aid,” “medical supplies,” “tech components.”
I stopped on a message clipped to the file.
“New batch arrived. Untouched.”
I stared at it.
Didn’t blink.
Turned the page.
“Blonde ones fetch double.”
