“My neighbor used to make it when I was little. Before everything got bad, I thought… maybe it would be nice,” I nod, not surprised he recognizes it.
“It is nice. More than nice. Thank you.” Alexey reaches across the island and takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles
The simple gratitude in his voice makes something tight in my chest loosen. For a moment, the penthouse doesn’t feel like a luxurious cage or a strategic headquarters. It feels like a home. our home.
Somewhere, a former marketing assistant can cook dinner for the dangerous man who saved her, and he can stand in the doorway watching her like she’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
He rounds the island, pulls me gently against him, and kisses the top of my head.
“Dinner can wait five minutes,” he murmurs. “Let me just… look at you like this a little longer.”
I laugh softly and lean into his chest, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the warm aromas filling the kitchen.
I'm not sure where this scene plays into our agreement, but I am not going to remind Alexey. I decide to just continue in the moment.
For the first time since I stormed into Fadir’s apartment screaming about another woman, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to survive.
It feels like something I might actually get to enjoy.
Chapter 6 - Alexey
The first moves against Fadir slide into place with the quiet precision of a well-oiled lock. No gunfire. No raised voices. Just careful pressure to the right points until the entire structure begins to groan.
I sit at the marble island in the early afternoon, laptop open, phone on speaker. Andrei’s voice crackles through the line from the other side of the city.
“Suppliers are already twitchy. The leak about the delayed payment hit their inbox thirty minutes ago. Anonymous, routed through three different proxies. They’ll start questioning his reliability by tonight.”
“Good,” I reply, voice even. “Next, plant the tip with his rivals in the east district. Make it look like it came from inside his own crew. Let them smell blood in the water.”
I type quickly, cross-referencing the partial account details Anja gave me yesterday morning. The numbers line up cleanly. Within hours, Fadir’s legitimate business fronts, namely his chain of import-export companies that mask the real cargo, will start receiving quiet inquiries from regulators.
Nothing dramatic enough to trigger alarms, just enough friction to make him look sloppy. Unreliable. The kind of man whose empire develops hairline cracks that spread slowly, painfully, until the whole thing collapses under its own weight.
This is how I dismantle someone, not with a bullet to the head, but with a thousand small cuts that bleed him dry while the world watches.
I end the call with Andrei and lean back, rolling my shoulders once. The penthouse is quiet, and I wonder whereAnja is. I haven't seen her yet today, and I replay last night in my head.
Finding Anja in the kitchen preparing dinner as if this were her kitchen. The aroma of the food cooking drew me in, and seeing her cook at the stove made me stay.
Back in the moment, sunlight slants across the pale oak floors, catching on the edges of the black leather sectional. The gas fireplace remains off as it’s too early and too warm for that.
Footsteps sound from the hallway. Anja appears, still in the gray sweatpants and black t-shirt from this morning, though she’s pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. She looks less exhausted today, the faint circles under her green eyes fading slightly. But there’s a restless energy in the way she moves, like a confined animal that has decided sitting still is no longer an option.
She stops at the edge of the island, arms crossed. “I’m not sitting on the sidelines feeling like baggage anymore.”
“You’re not baggage.” I raise an eyebrow, keeping my expression neutral.
“Then let me help.” Her voice carries that sharp edge I’m starting to recognize. It’s the one that surfaces when she’s done being handled. “I lived with him for months. I saw things. Heard things. I can do more than hand over passwords and old receipts.”
I study her for a long moment. The fire in her eyes is genuine. Not reckless, but determined. Part of me wants to keep her at arm’s length, protected behind the walls of the penthouse while the real work happens. The smarter part knows that sidelining her now would only breed resentment. And resentment makes people unpredictable.
“Low-stakes call only,” I say finally. “With Andrei. You listen. You observe. If you have something useful, you speak. Otherwise, you stay quiet.”
“Deal.” She nods once, chin lifting.
I dial Andrei back. When he answers, I put the phone on speaker and set it between us on the marble.
“Anja’s sitting in. She has insight into Fadir’s public image. Run the current status first.”
