I shut the observation down immediately.
Later, as the city lights begin to dim toward the earliest hours of morning, Anja sits back and asks the question that has been building behind her eyes for days.
“How do the Sokolovs actually draw the line?” Her voice is quiet but pointed. “Between necessary force and needless cruelty. You say you protect your own, that it’s control, not chaos. But I grew up hearing stories about Bratva collectors who didn’t stop. They were ruthless.. They enjoyed the fear. So where’s the difference? Really.”
I set my pen down and meet her gaze directly. Transparency builds the trust we need for the long game. She is no longer just leverage. She is a willing participant, and that trust kept her insights flowing cleanly.
“Necessary force protects the structure,” I answer honestly, tone detached but clear. “When someone like Fadir pushes into our territory, tries to use women as pawns or destabilize what we’ve built, we respond. Financially first. Then isolation. Only violence when it’s the cleanest, most contained option. We don’t terrorize for sport. We don’t break homes to send messages or prey on the vulnerable because it makes usfeel powerful. That’s needless cruelty. It creates enemies, draws attention, and weakens the foundation. The code is simple: protect family, protect the women and children under our roof, maintain stability. Break that, and everything rots. Fadir enjoys the game. We end it efficiently.”
She listens, and I am aware of her eyes searching my face for more answers. I see the fractional relaxation in her shoulders. The same small shift that happens whenever I treat her as a true partner rather than a prize to be won or a victim to be sheltered. That trust is growing slowly and is useful for the plan. It makes her more keen and more invested.
Still, the small shift does unwelcome things to my chest. A quiet pull. A dangerous warmth that has no place in this arrangement. I shut it down immediately, locking it away where no one can touch it
She is still reeling from betrayal, job loss, and the terror of her past. No one should carry ghosts that make every touch suspicious.
I refuse to become another man who takes advantage of her vulnerability. No matter how naturally she fits into these late-night sessions or how her fire sharpens the blade we are using against Fadir.
The pretend relationship remains purely business.
Fadir has to watch us appear to grow closer while his world crumbles piece by piece. The public appearances, calculated touches for the cameras, and the illusion of something real.
Nothing beyond that is allowed.
The invisible line between us stays firmly drawn.
“We have enough for the next phase. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, or later today, we tighten the financial screws further.” I closed the laptop and pushed back from the island.
Anja stands as well, gathering the empty mugs. Her hair catches the low light one last time as she turns toward the hallway. She pauses at the edge of the living room, glancing back at me with those green eyes. Her gaze seems thoughtful, still guarded, but no longer as brittle as the night I pulled her from the warehouse.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For answering straight.”
“Get some rest,” I nod once.
She disappears down the hall toward the guest suite, the soft click of her door echoing in the quiet penthouse.
I remain on the island a moment longer, staring at the closed laptop. Fadir’s weak counter-move has already been neutralized. The slow dismantling continues exactly as planned.
Anja Kuzmin is proving to be more useful than I could have ever imagined. Her insights, her fire, the way she leans into the work without hesitation, and how it all accelerates the erosion in ways I haven’t fully anticipated.
Yet as I switch off the pendant light and head toward my own suite, I remind myself again of the boundaries.
The age gap. Her recent wounds. The ghosts she carries. The honest nature of every interaction.
No matter how naturally she fits beside me in the quiet hours of the night, or how that small shift in her trust tugs at something deeper than strategy.
The war against Fadir is progressing.
For the moment, that is enough.
***
I return home late one evening, and the penthouse lights dimmed to their usual low glow. The day has been long as I have been finalizing the latest financial cuts on Fadir’s remaining fronts, coordinating with Andrei on the supplier leaks, and ensuring every loose thread remains tightly managed.
I had other business matters to tend to as well, all of which added more stress than I was able to handle at the moment. I worked in the downtown office today, and my mind kept wavering as I finally realized what was bothering me.
Anja's absence.
My shoulders carry the familiar weight of calculated precision, but the moment I step into the living room, that weight shifts.
