Fadir Klem needs to be dismantled methodically, publicly, without mercy.
Using Anja Kuzmin as the visible symbol of everything he has lost is still the cleanest path. But if protecting her becomes more important than the plan… if those tantalizing eyes and that quiet steel start to matter beyond tactical advantage, I may have to rethink my strategy.
I exhale slowly, staring at the city lights beyond the glass.
She could be my downfall.
Not because she is weak. No, quite the opposite. Because the more I see of her, the more I suspect she is the kind of woman who can make a man like me forget the rules of the game entirely.
I stand, switch off the bedside lamp, then lie back against the cool pillows. Sleep will come eventually. It always does.
But tonight, across the hall, Anja Kuzmin is lying awake in my guest suite, and for the first time in years, the patient, methodical enforcer in me wonders whether the slow war against Fadir has just gained a variable he can no longer fully control.
Chapter 3 - Anja
I pace the length of the living room like a captured feral animal that hasn’t decided whether to bite the bars or lie down and die. The penthouse feels too big, too quiet, and too perfect.
My sneakers squeak softly against the pale oak hardwood, leaving faint smudges that I don’t bother wiping away. Every step echoes off the high ceilings and the wall of glass that looks out over the glittering city, as if it’s mocking me.
The fireplace flickers with gas flames that give off no real heat, just a soft orange glow that dances across the black leather sectional and the massive marble kitchen island.
Everything here screams money and control. Expensive, yet restrained with nothing out of place. Nothing like the chaotic mess of Fadir’s apartment with its half-empty whiskey bottles and lipstick-stained glasses.
My heart is still hammering. All the events from the warehouse to how Fadir slapped me, from the stranger who dragged me out at gunpoint and drove me here without asking. It’s all too much for me to comprehend and settle in.
Alexey Sokolov.
The name sits heavy on my tongue like a curse I’m too exhausted to spit out.
He stands near the kitchen island, leaning against the marble with his arms loosely crossed, watching me with those brown eyes that don’t miss anything. He changed into a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants while I was in the guest room trying to stop shaking.
The casual clothes should make him look less threatening. But they don’t.
Even at a somewhat mid-thirties age, he carries himself like someone who has already seen every way the world can break a person and decided none of it surprises him anymore. His brown hair is still slightly damp from the rain earlier.
His broad shoulders, the kind of quiet stillness that makes the air feel thicker around him, send shivers throughout my body. He’s nothing like Fadir’s flashy charm. This man is all sharp edges wrapped in calm, an unsettling tranquility.
“Sit down, Anja,” he says, voice low and even, the same tone he used in the car. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”
I stop pacing but don’t sit. Instead, I wrap my arms tighter around my middle, fingers digging into the damp fabric of my jacket. “Explain. From the beginning. No more half-truths.”
He nods once, like he expected this.
“Fadir Klem has been trying to push into Sokolov territory for months. Drugs, smuggling routes, legitimate fronts, he thinks he can launder through. He’s not subtle about it. When we pushed back, he made it personal. He targeted my sister, Katya, and thought that if he could get close to her, he could weaken the family from the inside. Use her as leverage, the same way he used you.”
The words land like stones in still water.
Katya.
I remember Fadir mentioning her name once or twice in passing. Something about a charity event, maybe a casual connection. I thought it is business networking. But now the pieces snap together with sickening clarity.
The late nights. The locked study door. The way he smiles at me like I am his safe little secret while he is planning something uglier.
“He used me,” I whisper. My voice cracks, but I force it steady. “All of it, the job loss, my eviction, then offering me a place to stay. It wasn't ever about helping me. It's about control. About having another pawn he could move around the board.”
“Yes. You were convenient. Young, desperate, with no strong ties left in the city. He isolated you, made sure you had nowhere else to go. Then he started locking you in tighter. The threats, though, weren’t new. They are just the mask slipping.” Alexey doesn’t sugarcoat it.
I feel the floor tilt under me. I grip the back of the leather couch to stay upright.
