Page 18 of Accidental Mile High Vows

His name is Anton, and he thinks he can skim product from my distribution network without consequences.

The meeting is in a warehouse on the docks. Anton is already sweating when I walk in, flanked by Silas and four of my best men.

“Mr. Volkov.” He tries for confidence and fails. “I can explain.”

I sit in the chair they’ve set up for me. “Yes, please go on and explain how you’ve been stealing from me for three months.”

“It wasn’t—I was going to pay you back?—”

“With what? The money you’ve already spent?” I lean back, casually. “You have a wife, Anton. Three kids. Nice house in Brooklyn. I know where they are right now and what they’re doing. I know your daughter has soccer practice at four PM.”

His face goes white. “Please. Please, I’ll do anything?—”

“You’ll do nothing.” I stand and walk toward him. “You’ll disappear. Tonight. Leave the city. Leave the state. If I ever see your face again, if I ever hear your name, I’ll finish what I started. And I won’t stop with you. Do you understand?”

He’s nodding frantically. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” I turn to Silas. “Make sure he gets the message.”

What happens next isn’t pleasant. I don’t watch. I’ve seen enough violence in my life, but I hear it. I hear Anton screamingand begging, while Silas explains in graphic detail what will happen if he ever shows his face again.

By the time it’s over, Anton is sobbing and broken and will never cross me again.

This is who I am. This is what I do. And somewhere out there is a woman who married me without knowing any of it.

The rest of the day is legitimate business. Hotel acquisitions, real estate deals, tech company investments. I built an empire that looks clean on the surface, and most days I can almost pretend that’s all it is.

But underneath? Underneath is the Bratva. The network of criminals, dealers, and enforcers who keep the machine running. The part of my life that got my son tortured and will probably get me killed someday.

The part I can never let Savannah see.

If I find her.WhenI find her.

Three weeks pass like this. Days bleeding into each other, all the same routine. I handle the legitimate business. Handle the criminal business. Come home to an empty penthouse and wonder where my wife is sleeping.

Alexi helps when he can. He checks social media, tracks down leads, and even flies to Chicago to look into her background. We find her old workplace, her mother’s house, which is empty, and her ex-boyfriend, who posts angry rants about women online.

But no Savannah.

It’s driving me insane.

I’m in a meeting with hotel investors when Silas texts me:Found her.

I’m out of my chair before I can think. “Gentlemen, excuse me. I have an emergency.” In my office, I call him immediately. “Talk to me.”

“Savannah Castellanos. Twenty-five years old, just started working at Kryla Holdings two weeks ago. Marketing department.”

I pause. “Say that again.”

“Kryla Holdings. Your company. Well, technically?—”

“I know what I own.” I’m laughing now. “She’s been here the whole time?”

“Looks like it. Just started. I’m sending you her file now.”

The email arrives, and I open it. There she is. I’m looking at her employee photo, professional and serious. Hair pulled back, wearing a blouse that hides everything I know is underneath.

Savannah Castellanos. My wife. Working for me and completely unaware.