More focused.
She points out patterns I have not caught yet, like how Fadir always used the same two burner phones for certain contacts, and how he’d get twitchy and controlling after any mention of the Sokolov name.
How he kept a secondary ledger in a safe behind the abstract painting in his living room. The numbers sheremembers are precise enough that I can already see the threads I’ll pull to unravel his legitimate fronts first.
By the time she finishes her coffee, the mug empty except for a faint ring of sugar at the bottom, I realize the young woman sitting across from me is far sharper than her circumstances suggested.
Most people in her position, freshly betrayed, jobless, and terrified, would still be curled up in the guest suite trying to disappear. But Anja is leaning into the fight. Her mind works like a scalpel, cutting through Fadir’s chaos to hand me the exact weaknesses I need.
She’s not just a pawn anymore. She’s becoming a willing participant in the slow dismantling of the man who tried to own her.
The slow erosion has officially begun.
I note her beauty the way I note tactical details… objectively, without letting it linger. The way the morning light catches the auburn highlights in her hair. The sharp line of her jaw when she’s concentrating. The quiet fire in her eyes refuses to dim even after everything she’s lost.
She’s striking in a way that could distract lesser men. I file the observation away and lock it down tight.
This is business. Strategy. Nothing more.
The age gap alone is enough reminder with thirteen years and an entire world of difference between a sheltered twenty-one-year-old still reeling from betrayal and a thirty-four-year-old enforcer whose hands have been bloody for years.
I refuse to become another man who takes advantage of her vulnerability.
“Good,” I say when she finally falls silent. I top off her mug without asking. “That gives us several clean entry points. We start with the suppliers. Leak just enough to make them nervous about his reliability. Then the charity fronts. Make them look like the laundering operation they are.”
She watches me over the rim of the fresh coffee, as something unreadable flickers across her face. “You really do this kind of thing calmly, don’t you? Like it’s just another Tuesday.”
“Raising my voice doesn’t make the knife cut deeper. Patience does.” I shrug one shoulder.
A small, reluctant huff of air escapes her, maybe a laugh, but not quite. She sets the mug down and uses her fingers to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear. Then she loosened the knot a little. For the first time since she sat down, the exhaustion in her posture looks a little less heavy. Like sharing the intel has given her back some measure of control.
The dismantling of Fadir Klem has begun in earnest, and she is no longer just the girl I pulled out of that warehouse. She is a partner in this, whether either of us planned it that way or not. It’s amazing what twelve hours and the promise of freedom that money can buy can do to a person.
I’m about to suggest she get some proper rest when my phone vibrates on the island. Andrei’s name flashes on the screen. I glance at it, then back at Anja.
“Give me a minute,” I say, already moving toward the hallway for privacy.
She nods, but her eyes follow me, curious and still guarded.
I step into the short corridor that leads to the bedrooms, answering as I go. “Talk.”
“Fadir’s already moving. Made three frantic calls this morning trying to lock down his remaining accounts. Word from the street is he’s rattled. He thinks you took the girl as a trophy. He’s spreading noise that she’s unstable, that she ran off with sensitive information. Trying to get ahead of whatever we’re planning.” Andrei’s voice comes through low and clipped.
“Let him talk. We use it. Start feeding the suppliers the first anonymous tip this afternoon, and make it look like it came from inside his own circle. I want him looking weak by tomorrow night.” I lean against the wall, one hand rubbing the back of my neck. The scar along my jaw pulls slightly with the motion.
“Already on it. You need me to send a team to sweep the penthouse again? Extra security on the girl?”
I glance back toward the kitchen. Through the open space, I can see Anja still at the island, fingers tracing the rim of her mug, lost in thought. The morning light catches her profile, highlighting the quiet steel in her posture even as exhaustion tugs at her shoulders.
“No extra team yet,” I answer. “She’s contained here. But keep eyes on Fadir’s known associates. If he tries anything desperate, I want a warning.”
Andrei grunts in agreement and ends the call.
I slip the phone into my pocket and stand there a moment longer, the weight of the night and the morning pressing in. The plan is shifting faster than I anticipated.
Anja Kuzmin is supposed to be leverage, nothing more. A visible symbol of everything Fadir lost. Instead, she’s handing me precise intel with a sharpness that surprises me. And thatsmall relaxation in her shoulders when I laid out the no-physical-expectations rule… it did something unwelcome to the careful distance I maintain.
I push the thought down hard. Professional. Tactical. There will be nothing more.
