Page 18 of Claimed By the Boss

“Correction,” I interrupt. “Your boss took out six of your men by sending them to interfere withmybusiness. I just cleaned up the mess.”

“You think you can walk away from this?” Demyan snaps. “There’s a price for going after a Vasiliev.”

I laugh under my breath. They still don’t realize they’re merely prey who’ve walked into a loaded trap.

“You come into my company,” I say, standing slowly, letting the chair creak back behind me. “You bring weapons into my building. You make a threat against me on the top floor of a skyscraper I own.”

I step closer, until I’m in front of them. Until they have to look up.

“You’ll be lucky to get out of here with your heads intact.”

Boris pushes to his feet. He’s taller than Demyan, broader through the chest. He’s clearly an enforcer, likely used to being the scariest one in the room. Unfortunately, his act doesn’t work on me. I don’t even blink.

“You had a lot of guts coming here,” I say, folding my hands behind my back. “Too bad I have to make examples of you. You work for the wrong boss.”

Demyan’s jaw twitches. “You wouldn’t dare?—”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re very bad at recognizing your position.”

And then I nod.

At my signal, Radimir moves. The hallway doors open again and two of my men step in, silent and fast. In less than five seconds, both Vasiliev men are disarmed, spun around, and shoved to their knees. There’s the slap of zip ties, the hiss of fabric as black cloth hoods are pulled over their heads.

Demyan snarls a threat in Russian.

One of my men elbows him hard in the ribs. “Quiet.”

Radimir adjusts his jacket cuffs, as if they’re the most interesting thing to see in the room.

“What do you want to send back with the bodies?”

I let my gaze sweep the skyline outside for a moment before turning back to him. “You’re the creative one.” I grin. “You decide.”

Radimir grins wickedly. He crouches next to Demyan and whispers something I can’t hear, but I see the way Demyan reacts. His shoulders go stiff, like he’s afraid.

The two men are hauled to their feet, their curses muffled by the sacks now tied securely over their faces. My men drag them toward the back exit, toward the freight elevator that leads to the sublevel where there are no cameras and no questions asked.

I return to my seat and lower myself into it with slow, controlled precision. Radimir doesn’t follow them out. He closes the doors gently and returns to stand across from me.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I think they knew this was a suicide run.”

“Good,” I say. “That means Rurik knows I’m dangerous.”

Radimir nods.

“Have the cleanup team ready,” I add. “No blood on the freight deck. No trace they were ever here.”

“You got it, boss.”

I let silence settle between us for a moment. I can still feel the heat in my bloodstream, that chemical spike of controlled fury that always comes with a challenge to my territory. It’ll fade soon, though not entirely.

Radimir crosses his arms. “This will escalate things.”

I look up at him. “That’s the point.”

He inclines his head.

“I want Rurik watching his back every time he leaves his house,” I say quietly. “I want his men paranoid and sloppy. The more noise he makes, the more attention I can draw to his offshore holdings.”