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Nikolai's eyes shine with excitement as he leans forward in his chair, hands gripping the armrests.

"Think about it, Dima," he says, animated and passionate. "Investing in Abram’s new projects could be a game-changer for us. There's so much potential for growth, and we'd be foolish to pass up this opportunity. The Zolotovs are only going to get stronger with Abram and his siblings here in Philadelphia."

My gaze remains fixed on my older brother's face, studying his every expression as I weigh the proposition. It's not that I don't trust Nikolai; I'd do anything to protect him and our siblings. But something about the Zolotovs sets off alarm bells in my head.

Nikolai might have married Boris Zolotovs sister Anoushka, and while I’ve grown fond of Anoushka and the wonderful person she is, that doesn’t give me blind faith in every Zolotov. For years, we’ve been enemies. That can’t just be erased through one marriage.

"Potential, yes." I sigh, rubbing my temples. "But what do we really know about the rest of the Zolotovs? Abram and his siblings have only just arrived in Philadelphia. We don’t know why they’re asking you for investment. They’ve got powerful enough connections, including their cousins Ivan and Boris, from whom to raise funds. There's risk involved, Nikolai. We can't jump into bed with them without understanding their motives and connections."

Nikolai rolls his eyes, clearly frustrated. "You're always so paranoid, Dima. Sometimes, you need to take risks to get ahead in life."

"Paranoia has kept us alive and out of trouble so far," I counter, holding my ground. My mind races with questions and concerns, struggling to reconcile my instincts with the desire to see my family thrive.

"Fine," Nikolai concedes, his tone sharp. "What do you want to do then?"

"Before we make any decisions, I need to gather more information," I say firmly. "I suggest you give me some more time to keep a closer eye on the Zolotovs and everyone involved in this project."

"Always the cautious one," Nikolai mutters under his breath, but he gives me a begrudging nod of agreement.

"Better safe than sorry." I force a tight-lipped smile.

***

Surrounded by the dim glow of my office lamp, I shuffle through files on every member of the Zolotov syndicate. I meticulously organize every detail, leaving no stone unturned in case my spies make an error or two. They’re only human, and human beings can be careless.

"Another late night, Dima?" My brother Fedor leans against my doorframe with a playful grin. "You're beginning to resemble a vampire."

"Someone has to keep a watchful eye on our new acquaintances," I retort, not lifting my gaze from the papers before me. "Besides, I've always appreciated the night's tranquility."

"Suit yourself. I’m heading out on a date," he chuckles before disappearing down the hallway.

As much as I'd like to share in their excitement over Abram’s project, I can't shake the uneasiness that gnaws at me. I need answers, clarity. To ensure nothing threatens my family.

There are files on everyone. Ivan and his wife Audrey, Sergei and Amelia, Mikhail and Caterina, Vanya, Boris and Robin, Damien and Genevieve, Lev and Pippa, and Anoushka.

None of their routines seem out of the ordinary. The women are busy with the children and non-profit work, and the men with business as usual. Apart from Sergei visiting some seedy mafia members from the Italian units, there’s not much to pry into. I do remember Nikolai mentioning that the Zolotovs are interested in bringing other crime families under their patronage to keep them under control, and I assume it’s related to that.

Now, it’s the newer members I’m more interested in. Abram, Vladimir, Denis, Mark, and Lara. The Zolotovs who just arrived in Philadelphia.

Of them all, it is Lara that’s coming to be of interest to me. Abram’s youngest sister, who until recently had been nothing more than a quiet, well-behaved young woman in the periphery of our world. I know, as I’ve met her a few times. We barely spoke more than a little bit about how she’s settling into Philadelphia. Beautiful, dainty, and mouse-like, her sudden involvement in high places has only fueled my curiosity, for I’m learning things about her that she’s hiding from those closest to her.

But why?

I recall the first time we crossed paths at an introductory dinner at Ivan’s. She stood near an elaborate ice sculpture, her eyes wide with wonder, unlike the bored expressions of the other guests. That sense of wonder is what drew me in toward her before I learned who she was. As she turned to leave, our eyes met briefly, and I couldn't help but notice the innocence in that fleeting glance.

"Mr. Orlov," she greeted softly, offering a small, strange curtsy before hurrying away. Back then, she knew who I was, but I didn’t even know her name. That brief encounter had left me intrigued by her presence, how out of place she seemed in cold Philadelphia, with her nervous fluttering about and excitement at every turn. But now, her late-night goings and comings have me questioning what may have changed.

She doesn’t seem all that innocent and fresh like she did on our first encounter.

There are pictures of her sneaking out of her apartment, with a CD enclosed. I push the CD into my drive. The surveillance footage shows her sneaking out of her home, dressed for a night out on the town. She’s dressed sexier than I’ve ever seen her be at a family event. A tight, red dress. Slinky black satin on another night. Sometimes, it’s jeans and a crop top. She frequents exclusive clubs, stays out late, and returns under the cloak of darkness. What could she possibly be up to?

I have no doubt her brothers are being kept in the dark. I’ve seen enough to notice how protective they seem to be of her.

What worries me is the company she might be keeping. There are photos of her partying with strange girls and dancing with stranger men. Any of them could know who she is and be using her to get close to the Orlovs. Unwittingly or knowingly, she could bring us all into danger.

So, if that means keeping a keen eye on Lara, I’ll do it.

I call for Yuri, one of my most trusted men.

“Boss?” he enters my office.

I hand him a photo of Lara. "Keep an eye on her, but don't get too close," I instruct Yuri. "Just gather information and come to me the moment you notice anything strange.”

“Done, Boss,” he tells me.

***

Three days later, Yuri asks to meet me. "Boss, you asked to see an update as soon as it came in on the girl," Yuri informs me as he hands over the latest report.

"Thank you, Yuri. You may leave," I say, taking the papers from him. As I scan through them, my suspicions only deepen.

I scan the surveillance footage and photos and watch Lara leave her apartment in broad daylight with a backpack in tow. Instead of taking the family driver, which she usually does during the day, she sneaks out from the service lane and hails a cab. I switch to the next footage, which shows her entering a strange, nondescript, and broken-down building. It looks abandoned. The footage ends here, but I see images of her making an exchange. She’s selling a pair of diamond earrings to a man, and there’s a photo of her putting an envelope in her purse.

Why would Lara need to pawn off her jewelry? What kind of trouble could she be in? More than anything, and despite not wanting to, I feel worried for her. She’s just a young girl in a big city and could find herself in hot water sooner than she realizes.

Somehow, knowing that her brothers are in the dark, a far-fetched sense of responsibility to protect her falls on me. I cast the thought aside. She belongs to a family I don’t trust.

But if I know of her whereabouts and something happens to her, won’t it be my fault?

There are more images and photos of her entering small pawn shops, making transactions. Something tells me she’s looking for the best price, like every dollar counts.

The pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together, but I still can't make sense of Lara's actions. What could she possibly need the money for, given how rich her brothers are? What is she hiding from them?

The contrast between the quiet, innocent, and reserved girl I've met multiple times and the wild partygoer with seedy daytime dealings captured in the footage is striking. There must be more to her story.

This beautiful, twenty-two-year-old is turning out to be the most interesting Zolotov from the lot. I decide to keep a closer eye on this wild one.

***

Later that evening, our families are gathered together for dinner to celebrate Anoushka’s birthday. Across the table, I can't help but notice Lara's tense demeanor. She picks at her food, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

"Is everything alright, Lara?" Vanya asks, concern etched on her face.

"Of course, Sister. Just a bit tired," Lara responds with a forced smile to her cousin.

"Perhaps you're overdoing it with all those museum visits," her brother Vladimir chimes in, casting a disapproving glance in her direction.

“Museum visits?” I speak out before I can stop. Is that what her brothers think she’s up to?

Suddenly, Lara looks over at me, almost frightened that I’ve addressed her passively. Her black, doe-like eyes knock on mine, and she shuffles in her seat.

As I watch her reaction to my question, a strange feeling stirs within me. The way her cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink under my gaze, the way her eyes widen with a mix of surprise and apprehension—it's all too captivating. She quickly regains her composure and offers me a polite smile, but I notice the way her fingers fidget nervously in her lap.

Vladimir takes this opportunity to speak up, his tone annoyed. "Yes, museum visits. Lara seems to have developed an interest in art recently. We suggested it to her, but she’s taken quite a liking to it and is hardly ever home after noon,” he shoots his sister a disapproving look.

Lara, whose eyes are still locked onto mine, averts her gaze when she notices her brother’s gaze. Hauntingly, I become aware of the crushing disappointment of not having her attention any longer.

"I'm just enjoying my youth while I still can," she mutters.

Oh, she sure is , I think to myself as the images of her dancing the night away with those sultry moves come to mind. I clear my throat, reminding myself just who she is, forcing myself not to focus on the heat pooling between my legs.

She’s my sister-in-law Anoushka’s cousin. Far too young, not that I could be interested. I’m 33, and she? 22.

Throughout the evening, I continue to observe Lara from across the room, attempting to piece together this enigma of a girl. She’s so quiet and polite, only speaking when spoken to.

How is this the same girl who wears six-inch heels and makes her way in and out of glamorous bars? What secrets does she hide beneath her innocent facade?

It's clear that I must tread carefully, as any misstep could jeopardize the delicate balance of power between our families. But one thing is certain: the answers I seek are clawing at me to be found, and as the family gathering winds down and Lara leaves with her brothers, I make a decision I know could be risky but necessary.

I have to follow her tonight and see for myself what secrets she's harboring. The safety of my family is at stake, and I can't afford to leave any stone unturned.

***

"Goodnight, everyone," I announce, making my way toward the exit. "It's been a lovely evening."

"Goodnight, Dima," various family members call out as I slip away, their voices fading into the background.

Half an hour later, I wait in my car, hidden amongst the shadows outside Lara’s apartment, careful not to draw attention to myself. My heart races as I watch Lara sneak out from the staff exit.

She’s no longer dressed in the long black dress and pearls. Now, she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt—an odd outfit choice for her regular night out in town.

And still, those clothes cling to her curves. Her long black hair falls around her face, down her shoulders, almost to her ass. I avert my gaze, shocked with myself at the observation that even when she tries to dress down, she’s an eye-catcher.

She glances around nervously, her tense demeanor fueling my suspicions even more. Why would she need to sneak out so often, even after a night out with the family? What could she possibly be involved in that demands such secrecy?

"Where are you going, Lara?" I murmur under my breath, watching as she hails a taxi and disappears inside.

I put my car into drive and follow the cab from a safe distance. We weave through the bustling streets of the city, the bright lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the wet pavement. I keep my eyes locked on her vehicle, my mind racing with possible scenarios.

As we continue through the city, I can't help but think back to the surveillance footage. The girl laughing and dancing with wild abandon seems a far cry from the tense, stressed Lara I've observed tonight. It's puzzling and unsettling.

She gets off outside a nightclub and I hand my car over to the valet, following her into a multi-storied club.

***

I slip into the nightclub, immediately assaulted by pulsing music and a dizzying array of lights. Bodies sway and undulate to the beat, creating a sea of movement that threatens to swallow me whole. I spot Lara near the bar, sipping on bottled water, unlike all the other nights she’s sipped a cocktail.

Her eyes are shifty as she nervously dodges any attempt at conversation from other people at the bar.

Tonight, she’s not the carefree, striking girl I’ve observed on surveillance.

She almost looks like she doesn’t want to be here. She keeps looking around the club like she’s waiting for someone.

"Hey, buddy! You wanna drink?" A waiter slaps me on the back, jolting me from my thoughts.

"Vodka," I mutter, attempting to keep up appearances while my eyes remain locked on Lara.

"Coming right up!" he shouts over the music before disappearing into the crowd.

I sip on it quietly. Lara continues to sit alone, nervous and almost afraid. Her phone buzzes and she pales as she looks down at it, again glancing around the club once she reads whatever message she got. Her eyes are wide with fear and she gets off her stool, leaving cash on the table, not bothering to wait for the change.

“Bill, please,” I wave down a waiter.