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The gold onion dome of a nearby church glinted in the last streaks of sunlight, and stretching beyond was the backdrop of steel skyscrapers bathed in the hues of early evening.

The towers of the city rose boldly to one side, their glass exteriors glowing in copper and rose where the sunset clung, as if the buildings themselves were burning softly.

Faint car headlights and street lamps flickered, and, though the outside world remained muted through the glass, I could hear the familiar echoes of trains humming in the far distance and siren wails carried by the wind.

Growing up on the brutal streets of Moscow had that effect, hinting at every possible sound that could be a signal for fight or flight; every whistle, whisper, or knock could mean something. Sometimes, the silence spoke even more volumes.

In the end, getting acquainted with the darkness of the underworld was more a matter of survival necessity than an option.

And after that stage came the painful shredding of human conscience.

It didn’t matter how loud and gut-wrenching the screams grew; this life taught you to stomach it. All of it—the profuse sweating, the streams of blood, the pathetic tears, and the pleas. Stopping the torture was not allowed until you got what you wanted.

Behind me, a man screamed.

It was intense: a primal, anguished roar echoing like a raw explosion, reverberating like his life depended on it, and I turned around just in time to meet Roman’s tattooed-fisted knuckles flying into the man’s jaw.

His swollen face twisted to the side, purple-black and bruised, with a string of crimson saliva drooping from his busted lips to the crisp collar of his white shirt. He groaned, cursed, and threw his head back on the chair to stare at the ceiling.

Roman raised his fist again, ready to strike, and I lifted a finger. “ Ostanovis.” Stop.

Roman glanced over his shoulder, his blond eyebrows tightened with concentration as he looked at me like, for a moment, he had forgotten my presence in the office.

Straightening , he clenched his bloodied fists at his sides, growing rigid with respect as I moved toward them.

I slid a hand into my pocket, raising an eyebrow at the man in the chair. “Shame that we have to conduct business like this, Benjamin.”

“Business…” he choked out, chuckling dryly in between, and then sobbed. “This is a far cry from business, Damien.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t exactly leave me a choice, and maybe you should be grateful that I have Roman here laying a few punches.”

“Grateful? I never saw it before, but you’ve got just more than a nut loose.” He spat blood, his eyes narrowing in anguish.

I ground my teeth.

Any other time, I might have done the honors of knocking a few of his nuts loose myself. But I kept my temper in check. He wasn’t worth the effort.

I stroked the beard on my chin. “That’s nothing new under the sun. You, of all people, should know that. Instead of calling me names, why don’t you go ahead and tell me where you hid the remaining money?”

“This is stupid.” He gave me an incredulous look, struggling to search my face through his swollen eyes. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? Damien, we’ve—we’ve been in business for three years. I thought you knew me better than this. The books have been as transparent as they could ever be.”

“The books have been, but you haven’t.”

Three years held no significant weight in business matters, and if he didn’t know that, I couldn’t be blamed for his ignorance.

“And I thought I did know you. That’s why I never would’ve believed you would be stupid enough to steal from me, and more stupid to think I never would have found out.”

“Damien, I—”

A sharp traditional tune cut through his sentence, loud and harmonious, emanating from my desk. I walked over to it and picked up the phone. One glance at the caller ID, and a frown touched my lips.

I glanced over my shoulder at a stoic-faced Roman and an agonized Benjamin. While looking at the latter, I pointed at Roman. “He’s going to keep landing those punches until something useful comes out of you.”

Springing into action, Roman stood in front of him, blocking my view, and, when his eager fist came down, with the phone to my ear, I turned my back on Benjamin’s groans.

“Privyet.”

Egor Yezhov never made a direct phone call unless there were urgent matters at hand, and so far, the Russian faction’s operations were moving smoothly.

There were no unnecessary headaches in Moscow, at least none that I was aware of.

Nothing significant had happened, worthy of grabbing his attention.

So, the pregnant silence that followed from the other end of the line was unsettling.

“Damien.”

I straightened, blocking out the noise from the background, and pressed the phone closer. “Da, Pahkan.”

There was a brief rustle before the deep, imposing timbre of his baritone came through the speaker.

“ I take it that you’re up to speed on the ongoing expansion structures I authorized for setup here in the United States, so I’ll head to the point. I want my strongest men at the forefront, heading the new factions in the States. I want you here.”

My throat tightened, and I curled my fingers inside my pocket.

“But I have—”

“Damien, this arrangement is not up for discussion,” he breathed out calmly and proceeded in a rapid roll of Russian.

“Every other thing you were currently handling is now secondary. Your primary assignment is what I have given you. Work out the logistics with Fedor. You start in Los Angeles on Friday.”

I allowed the air to flow slowly through my lungs and, although he couldn’t see, I nodded curtly. “ Da, Pahkan.”

The line went dead, but the flicker of annoyance radiating through my nerves kept my hand wrapped around the phone pressed to my ear.

The door creaked open, and I turned in time to meet the hulk-sized man strutting in.

“Judging by that scowl on your face, I’m guessing you’ve already heard,” Fedor murmured in Russian.

A glimpse of light caught on his shaved head as his boots thudded toward my desk, and his thick eyebrows creased curiously at the sight of Roman and Benjamin in the corner while he pulled a chair and lowered his huge frame into it.

“Is that the accountant? Benjamin Hudson?”

Cautiously, I dropped the phone, signaling Roman to stop.

“Yes.”

Fedor shrugged. “Shame, he’s barely recognizable. What did he do?”

I looked over my shoulder, giving him a once-over. Gasping and groaning between a stream of tears and blood, Benjamin hunched forward on the chair, in worse shape than I’d left him.

The scene irritated me even more.

“Take him out,” I barked, and the blond man willingly dragged a semiconscious Benjamin out of the office.

When the door closed behind them, I gripped the edge of the desk while Fedor leaned back, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, brow arched.

“What he did is going to remain an unfinished business to take care of, unfortunately. The Pahkan wants me in LA on Friday.”

“I know. I mean, that’s obviously why I’m here,” he said, slouching farther back into his chair and wiggling a finger at my face. “What I’m trying to understand is why you still have that frown.”

I ignored his question and raised an inquisitive brow instead. “Should I be concerned that he reached out to you first before I received the news?”

Fedor only moved his shoulder. “Word travels fast around these parts; you already know that. And no. He did not contact me directly. Just a cryptic message from Anatoly that said, ‘ Travel light. Touchdown in LA on Friday.’ I got the hint and came over here, only to confirm that it’s more serious than ‘traveling light’ because of that adorable pout on your face. So, we’re back to why? ”

“You know why, Fedor.” Huffing an exasperated sigh, I combed my fingers through my hair.

My respect and loyalty to the Pahkan were unmatched.

For twenty-six years, I served under him diligently, but maybe not patiently enough.

When it came to the job, my least favorite part about it was the random plucking and uprooting.

There was no organized roster of the sort, like a schedule to know who was next.

No soft landing accompanied the Pahkan’s order. When he said move, you moved.

I rubbed my shoulder. “Moscow is home.”

“It is home.” Fedor’s voice reeled me back, and when I looked at him, he stroked his chin. “But we barely have three days to eat blinis and cuddle, so what now?”

I rolled my eyes and walked back to the window. It was dark outside, with stars twinkling faintly against the vast blanket of the night sky. “Working out the logistics comes next. House maintenance, mobility, arsenal restocking, among other things.”

“Hmm. That’s a good list. Funny, I was already ten steps ahead of you.

As for mobility, we have a dozen new Maybach Sedans on their way to the estate, and there’s no need to worry about the maids and workers there.

I have that covered, as well as the number of foot soldiers under your command.

It’s also a good thing you have some businesses functioning there. ”

I turned away from the view outside, meeting Fedor’s gaze, which grew serious.

“What?” I asked.

“You know you’re missing something more important.”

“Spit it out.”

Fedor didn’t hesitate, and his eyes told it before his mouth did. “Katya. Or did you happen to forget that you have a daughter?”

Hearing her name felt like a boulder had crashed into my gut. It was exactly eleven years and nine months since anyone dared breathe her name out loud.

The impact of our scant memories was brutal. It snatched the air out of my lungs in one single sweep, and a heat of self-loathing instantly spread through my chest.

I moved away from the window to the desk and settled into the chair, my jaw ticking and the crease between my eyebrows deepening by the second. I knotted my fingers under my chin, staring down at Fedor with a flickering intention to disfigure his face with my fist.

The only reason he could bring up that topic and still survive, with that lopsided, smug smirk on his face, was because he was useful and valuable to me. He’d served the longest, proven his loyalty, and stuck closer than the rest.

It also wasn’t his fault that I had a damaged, irreparable, and almost non-existent relationship with my daughter, or that I moved miles away from her, back home to Moscow, one week after the tenth anniversary of the death of her mother.

The emotions swirling in my chest now were bitter, guilt-ridden, and filled with regret. I gnashed my teeth, but it didn’t hurt hard enough to feel like an atonement. Hence, the redirection of my anger to Fedor.

I questioned him with narrowed eyes. “And why should I consider her in our plans?”

“Why should you consider her? ” He looked more confused than ever. “She graduated from the Manhattan School of Music about three weeks ago, a graduation you did not attend. And, might I add the most important part: A night after the party, she returned to the estate in LA.”

“Great.”

“And that’s the remark of an ecstatic father. My papa could’ve taken a few lessons from you,” he mused, a smile hovering on his lips. “Let me guess, the last time you talked to her was….”

The last time I saw her face was that morning, while she slept peacefully like an angel I did not deserve. I placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and whispered, “You will grow up strong.”

She was ten years old.

After that day, I did everything else for her: I ensured she attended the best schools, provided every essential thing she needed, and had men watch over her with their lives.

I simply played my roles through third parties and from a distance.

She tried, not once, to communicate, but I blamed my job for my decision to remain private.

Every attempt she made to connect was futile until she clocked sixteen, rejected my gift, and never tried again.

“Drop it,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “If she’s at the house, that’s fine. We can coexist. Her presence will not be a distraction.”

Stroking the hard edges of his jaw, Fedor inclined backward, clearly dissatisfied with my vague response, but I wasn’t willing to offer more.

“If you say so.”

Instinctively, I reached for the top drawer, which hung slightly ajar, and the silver frame tucked between a stack of folders and paperwork caught my attention. Taking it out was unnecessary when I knew what was fixed in it.

My daughter’s photograph.

She was younger, happier, and bubblier than ever.

In that photograph, Irina held her in her arms, and they looked so alike as they laughed at something possibly silly.

The memory was distant, and it felt like a lifetime ago when I sat on the recliner and watched them— my whole world —but the deep-seated emptiness inside stirred every time I thought of them.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time to dwell on my fractured relationship with my daughter. More important matters needed to be taken care of.

I shut the drawer, with more force than intended, and rose to my feet. “My daughter is the least of my concerns at the moment, Fedor. The Pahkan needs us in LA starting Friday. I need structure plans and a proposal on efficient expansion strategies in thirty minutes.”

He sensed the shift in the air and got to his feet, slowly tugging on the buttons of his coat.

Regarding me cautiously, he gave a brief nod. “Understood.”