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I don’t miss him. He was a piece of shit father and never treated me like a son. But Vladimir Morozov was one of the most respected men in our home country and a force to be reckoned with here in New York. He ruled with an iron fist and let nothing come before the Bratva. Not even me.
My home’s office alarm notification goes off, jolting me from my standstill. I pull out my security feed to see that Nik is in there speaking with Ilena. Grabbing a towel, I pat my face and head down to continue the Morozov name, and I hope I can keep that woman out of my damn head.
* * *
“We needto go over there and meet them in person,” Nik says. It has been three hours since he and Igor entered my place. Ilena has been in and out trying to shove food in our faces. I finally had to raise my voice and order her out.
“Have Ivan get the jet ready and let them know we will be there in eleven hours,” I say.
I want men on the ground when we get there. Meeting with the Siberian leadership for weapons is dangerous, especially having Nik and myself in the same place.
Nik and Igor leave the office, and I gather my paperwork, sending a short email to Natallia letting her know I will be out of the office for a week. I shuffle some files off my desk and into my locked drawer, not wanting to leave them out. Kate’s file falls to the floor, and I hesitate to pick it up. In fact, I stare at it.
Snatching it from the floor, I start to shove her photo back into the folder and pause. Her blonde hair frames her face, and her curved lips prompt me to take my thumb and rub them over the photo.
What the hell?
I rip the photo and toss it in the burning fireplace, now down to only an orange glow. The photo goes up quickly, the fire roaring back to life. But that’s not the only thing coming to life. I growl at myself as I realize something else is sparking beneath the surface.
* * *
The weekin Russia yields millions. I have weapon shipments coming in and going out, solidifying the Bratva as the largest arms dealer in multiple countries.
The flight home is quiet. My men are preparing for the extra work, this trip put stress on our warehouses. Nik comes to sit by me, lazily scrolling through his phone.
“I want an update on the girl.” My finger points in Nik’s direction, and his lips purse. Yep, he is going to have something to say.
“Permission to speak freely,” he asks, although he doesn’t need it. His loyalty to our family is unwavering. Even though I don’t have patience for this, I take into consideration everything Nik says—always.
“Da.” I wait for him to formulate his thoughts, and he takes a deep breath, sighing.
“There is nothing there. She goes to work, working odd hours and attending events all over the city. We’ve had two men with her twenty-four seven. She goes to work and her apartment. She’s met one friend for brunch on a day off, but those are rare. We’ve inspected her bank accounts, and it’s the same there.”
He snorts as if he’s humored himself. I give him a pointed look, and he continues. “It’s nearly empty—no money. All her paychecks that come in pay for rent, or she takes cash out. We’ve even scoured the dark web looking for offshore accounts and connections to any other organizations, but there aren’t any.”
I mull over the information and an odd sensation invades my sternum. “I want cameras in her apartment.”
Nik’s eyes stay hung on my face, trying to figure out if I’m serious or not.
“Luka, is that a necessary action? We already have two men—”
He stops abruptly when he sees my face. The logical part of my brain says I’m being paranoid, but I don’t care. The need to know if she is involved would explain these inclinations. I tell myself I’m keeping tabs on her because this city is too big to have that many run-ins with the girl from that night.
Yeah—that’s what I’m telling myself.
* * *
When the plane lands,two armored SUVs are waiting on the tarmac. It’s midmorning, but the sky is dark and dim. It’s pouring rain when Ivan comes with an umbrella to the jet’s stairs.
“Both vehicles are ready for you.”
Moving toward the car, my feet hit multiple puddles, and water splashes and squelches into my shoes. Annoyed and ready to be home, I slam the door to the car. Short trips to Russia are tiring and I never sleep enough.
Driving through the city, my gaze is out the window, dwelling on the new shipment of Makarovs for the West Coast. People are hurrying through the rain with their umbrellas, food carts are packing up with the recent downpour, and thunder echoes between the buildings. A flash of blonde draws my attention to the stop-light crosswalk.
There is no way. No.
A double take shows the girl, Kate, in her service uniform running down the sidewalk in the rain, bag over her head. My desire to get home evaporates.
