Page 9

9

DMITRI

I drum my fingers on the mahogany desk, watching Nikolai pace near my office window. The sunset casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

“Three separate threats this week.” Nikolai’s voice carries the weight of responsibility. “The Lebedevs are getting bold.”

“Maybe if someone wasn’t playing curator...” Alexi sprawls in the leather chair across from me, his laptop balanced precariously on his knees. His fingers dance across the keyboard without looking. “Too busy admiring paintings to notice the sharks circling.”

My hand stills. “Watch yourself, little brother.”

“What? It’s true. When was the last time you attended a proper meeting? You’re at that museum more than your own office.” Alexi’s eyes flick up, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Though I doubt it’s the art holding your attention.”

I growl, glaring at my brother.

“Dmitri.” Nikolai’s voice carries a warning.

I flex my hand. “The museum serves its purpose. We need legitimate channels?—”

“For laundering or for fucking the curator?” Alexi dodges the paperweight I hurl at his head. It crashes into the wall behind him.

“Enough.” I rise, looming over his sprawled form. “The museum is business. Nothing more.”

“Right.” Alexi’s smirk widens. “That’s why you’ve memorized her schedule. The reason you hijacked the security feeds. Why you?—”

“I said enough.” The words come out as a growl.

Nikolai clears his throat. “Alexi has a point. You’re distracted. The Lebedevs will exploit any weakness.”

I sink back into my chair, the familiar weight of control slipping. They’re right. Natasha consumes too many of my thoughts. Her defiance. Her passion. The way she shattered for me against that bookshelf...

“Fine.” I pull up the latest threat assessment on my tablet. “Walk me through what we know.”

But even as Nikolai begins his briefing, my mind drifts to tomorrow’s board meeting. To green eyes that see too much. To the dangerous game I can’t stop playing.

“A surgical strike.” Erik’s voice cuts through the tension. He stands from his position against the wall, shoulders squared. “Take out their key players. Send a message.”

I shake my head. “We’ve maintained equilibrium with the Lebedevs for seven years. War would destabilize everything we’ve built.”

“They’re already destabilizing it,” Erik counters, his military precision bleeding into each word. “Three threats in a week isn’t testing waters—it’s preparation for something bigger.”

“Erik’s right,” Nikolai adds. “They’re emboldened. Probably think we’ve gone soft with all our legitimate ventures.”

I tighten my grasp on my whiskey glass. The amber liquid catches the dying sunlight. “Going to war over threats is exactly what they want. It would give them justification to move against us openly.”

“Better than waiting for them to strike first.” Erik’s jaw tightens. “I still have contacts in Spetsnaz. We could make it look like internal power struggles.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “We’re not starting a war in this city. Not when we’ve finally established proper channels for?—”

“For what?” Alexi cuts in. “Your little museum project? Face it, brother. They’re pushing because they think you’ve lost your edge.”

I slam my glass down. “I haven’t lost anything.”

“Prove it,” Erik says quietly. “Let me take a team. One night. We can end this before it begins.”

The temptation pulls at me. It would be clean and efficient, which is Erik’s specialty. But I think of the delicate balance we’ve achieved and the legitimate businesses we’ve built. Tomorrow is the museum board meeting, where Natasha will present her latest acquisition proposal.

“No,” I say finally. “We watch. We wait. But we prepare. Alexi, I want everything on their recent movements. Erik put your team on standby. If they make one wrong move...”

“They already have,” Erik mutters, but he nods.

Nikolai moves from the window, filling the room as he approaches my desk. The shift in his demeanor is subtle but unmistakable as he changes from advisor to leader.

“I understand your position, Dmitri.” His voice carries the weight of authority that made him head of our family. “The legitimate business, the careful balance we’ve built. But we can’t just sit and wait for the next move.”

I meet his steel-gray eyes. “You think I’m being too cautious.”

“I think you’re letting other interests cloud your judgment.” He places both hands on my desk, leaning forward. “The Lebedevs are watching. Every day we don’t respond; they see weakness. And weakness?—”

“Will get us all killed,” I finish, the familiar mantra bitter on my tongue.

“Three threats in a week isn’t testing waters anymore.” Nikolai straightens, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s preparation. They’re measuring our response time, our willingness to act. Every hour we debate this is another hour they have to position themselves.”

The truth stings. I’ve built my reputation on calculated control, on being three steps ahead. But lately...

“Your museum project has merit,” Nikolai continues. “But if we lose our grip on the underground, all those legitimate channels won’t mean shit. The Lebedevs will tear it all down, piece by piece.”

Erik shifts against the wall, his combat-trained muscles coiled tight. Alexi’s typing has stopped, the room heavy with expectation.

“What do you suggest?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“We send a message.” Nikolai’s voice drops lower. “Not Erik’s surgical strike—not yet. But something that reminds them why the Ivanovs aren’t to be tested. Something that makes them question every move they’ve made this week.”

I lean back in my chair, a cold smile forming. “The Lebedev’s new shipping enterprise. The one they’ve spent the last year building.”

“Their crown jewel,” Alexi says, finally looking up from his screen. “Forty million in infrastructure alone.”

“Legitimate on paper.” I drum my fingers on my desk. “But we all know what really moves through those containers.”

Nikolai’s eyes narrow with understanding. “Their entire distribution network.”

“Exactly.” I pull up the satellite imagery on my tablet. “One strategic strike. Their ships catch fire in port. The insurance claim shows faulty wiring. Nothing traced back to us.”

“They lose months of preparation,” Erik adds, pushing off the wall. “And their suppliers start questioning their reliability.”

“More importantly,” I continue, “they lose face. The mighty Lebedevs, unable to protect their own investments, make their recent threats look hollow.”

Alexi’s fingers fly across his keyboard. “I can have their security protocols within the hour. Port authority schedules, guard rotations, everything.”

“No casualties,” I specify, meeting Erik’s gaze. “This isn’t about blood. It’s about showing them we can reach out and touch their most precious assets whenever we choose.”

“Clean. Precise. Untraceable.” Erik nods. “I’ll need three days to position everything.”

“Two,” I correct him. “The longer we wait, the more they’ll expect something.”

“Two days then.” Erik pulls out his phone, already coordinating with his team.

I turn to Nikolai. “Satisfied?”

“It’s a start.” He straightens his jacket. “But if they don’t get the message...”

“Then we move to more permanent solutions.” The words taste like iron on my tongue. “But first, we remind them why crossing the Ivanovs is bad for business.”

Alexi closes his laptop with a sharp snap. “I’ll start working on those security protocols.” He stands, stretching like a cat. “Try not to get distracted by any paintings while we handle this.”

I rise from my chair, crossing the space between us in two strides. Instead of flinching, my youngest brother grins up at me. The familiar spark of mischief in his eyes reminds me of when he was twelve, hacking his first government database.

“Watch yourself,” I warn, but there’s no real heat. I grip his shoulder, squeezing once. “Stay focused.”

“Always am, brother.” He winks, ducking away. “Unlike some people.”

Erik moves to follow him but pauses. His military bearing softens slightly. “We’ve got this, Dmitri. They won’t know what hit them.”

“I know.” I clasp his forearm, feeling the solid strength there. “Be careful.”

After they leave, Nikolai lingers by the window. Our silence is comfortable, weighted with years of understanding.

“You’re worried,” he observes.

“We haven’t had a true war in seven years.” I pour another finger of whiskey. “I’ve worked hard to build something legitimate. Something...”

“Something she’d respect?”

I don’t answer, but my grip tightens on the glass. I recall Natasha's fierce intelligence during board meetings, her passion when discussing art, and how she refuses to be intimidated by me. The thought of her caught in the crossfire of a gang war...

“The museum makes us vulnerable,” I admit. “Not just the business, but...”

“You.” Nikolai’s voice holds no judgment. “She makes you vulnerable.”

I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath. He’s right. I’m not thinking three moves ahead for the first time in years. I’m distracted and off-balance. And in our world, that could get people killed.

“Handle the Lebedevs first,” Nikolai says firmly. “Then figure out what to do about your curator.”

I turn to face my brother, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “Tell me something, Nikolai. Could you push her aside if it was Sofia in that museum? Focus on business?”

His jaw tightens, and I see the flicker of understanding in his eyes. We both know the answer.

“That’s different,” he says, but there’s less conviction in his tone.

“Is it?” I swirl the whiskey in my glass. “You saw her once across a crowded gallery and spent weeks orchestrating her acquisition. At least I’m trying to maintain some professional distance.”

“Professional distance?” He arches an eyebrow. “That’s what you call having Alexi hack the museum’s security feeds?”

“Says the man who had Erik’s team monitoring Sofia’s gallery for weeks.”

We share a look of mutual acknowledgment. The Ivanov weakness—once we find something worth pursuing, we become ruthlessly single-minded.

Every interaction with Natasha is a delicate dance of advance and retreat, push and pull. I tell myself it’s about maintaining control, but deep down, I know better. I’m afraid of what happens when the game ends, and she’s finally mine completely.

Because, unlike art or businesses or territory, Natasha Blackwood isn’t something I can simply possess. She’s a force of nature, challenging me at every turn. And God help me, I love it.