Page 40 of Claimed By the Boss

“Twice.” He nods. “I had Mikhail drive by the safehouse they were using in Brooklyn. It’s cold and empty. There’s been no movement there in at least four days, maybe more.”

That tracks with what I’ve seen on the financial end. Their shell companies haven’t shifted money since the last time we hit them. They’ve had no new laundering attempts or buy-ins at the union hall. It’s been unnervingly still over there.

I close the file and meet Alek’s eyes. “Why do you think they’ve gone so quiet all of a sudden?”

He shrugs casually. “Maybe they think we’re pacified. You’ve been quiet too.”

I nod once. “That was by design.”

“I know that, but they don’t.”

We sit in silence for a beat.

“Brighton’s his weak spot,” Alek adds. “We could hit him there. Get in quick and surgical, with no time for a counterattack. We can cut off his southern channel. Push him into Manhattan with no supply chain.”

It’s a solid strategy, and we’re on offense now. The more advantages we have, the better.

I stand and walk to the windows behind my desk. The skyline is gray today, washed in pre-storm light. It feels dangerous and foreboding.

“Put the plan together,” I say.

Alek nods behind me. “Should we use our usual crew?”

“No,” I answer firmly. “I want to see new blood. Use unmarked cars too, so there’s no trail.”

“Do you want a body count?”

“Only if it’s absolutely necessary,” I say, then pause. “But whatever you do, make sure it sends a message.”

He smiles, a grin as bright as Christmas morning.

I turn back toward him. “You have seventy-two hours. By Monday, they should be shitting their pants at just the thought of us.”

“You got it.”

He drains the last of his drink, then sets the glass down with a soft clink.

“I’ll text you when it’s ready,” he says. “Enjoy your night.”

I nod and watch him leave. The moment the door clicks shut, I exhale through my nose and glance at the time.

Lyra’s shift ends in ten minutes.

I don’t need to check, but I do anyway. It’s become a habit. I open the company chat feed and scan the activity log. She clocked in at eight this morning and hasn’t taken a single break longer than twelve minutes. She solved two major bugs, completed one UI enhancement flagged by QA, and sent a Slack message to her team that actually made me laugh when I saw it earlier.

She’s smart in a quiet, sharp way. She doesn’t waste words. I like that about her.

I close the window and leave my office, nodding once to Andrea as I pass. She raises a brow at me but doesn’t ask where I’m going.

I take the private stairwell to the floor below. I could take the elevator, but I like the sound of my own footsteps echoing off steel and concrete. It helps clear my head, especially after a talk with Alek.

I step onto the tech floor, and the air shifts. People look up at me, flinching a little as if they’ve done something wrong. They always do this, and I know that’s my fault. I’ve never been easily accessible to any of them.

Most of them pretend not to react to me at all, even as they visibly shrink in my presence.

But Lyra looks up at me boldly.

She’s standing by her desk, already shutting down her monitors. Her hair is half-up today, the rest falling in waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing a slate-gray sweater tucked into black slacks that fit her like they were sculpted to her body. She doesn’t smile at me, but something sparks in her eyes the second she sees me.