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I smirk, but then groan aloud when my email pings with yet another useless HR reminder.
Me: Speaking of HR, do you know what I just learned? I’m supposed to get “manager approval” before requesting more office supplies. MANAGER. APPROVAL. FOR A PEN. It’s a pen, not a government-classified weapon.
Unknown Number: Let me get this straight. Your company makes you ask permission to do your job?
Me: YES. And guess what? There’s a monthly supply limit. I’m sorry, but if my cheap office pen runs out of ink, am I supposed to just stare at my screen and manifest words with my mind?
Unknown Number: That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.
Me: Right?? Like, is this a company or a prison? Next thing you know, they’ll start rationing oxygen.
Unknown Number: Unacceptable. Someone should do something about that.
I snort, shaking my head.
Me: Yeah, well, unless you’re my CEO, there’s nothing you can do.
I shove my phone away, determined to finish my work and not let Ryan or corporate absurdity ruin my day.
Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that nothing ever actually changes in this company.
9
DAMIEN
Oleg standsin front of my desk, arms crossed, face like stone.
“You’re being reckless.”
I exhale slowly, rolling my neck, trying to rid myself of the tension that’s been sitting between my shoulders since last night. “That’s dramatic.”
Oleg isn’t convinced. “Sir, someone tried to put a bullet in you. That’s not something we ignore.”
I roll my shoulders, unaffected. “They missed.”
His jaw tightens. “They won’t next time.”
I say nothing, because he’s not wrong.
The shot last night wasn’t random. It wasn’t some reckless idiot firing into the dark for fun. Someone wanted me dead.
And that’s not new.
This life—the Bratva, the power, the control—it all comes with risk. I’ve had men gunning for me before. I will again.
The mistake was doing it on my property.
Whoever it was got away before we could track them, but that won’t happen again.
Last night was a reminder—a message—that someone is getting bold enough to take a risk. I don’t know if it was a business rival or someone looking to settle an old score, but either way, it’s a problem.
And yet, despite that, I feel…unbothered.
Not because I underestimate the situation. I’ve been in this life too long to be naive.
But because if someone truly wanted me dead, I would be.
This wasn’t an assassination attempt.