Page 10 of Twisted Pact

Boris, a local police captain who is on our payroll, stands behind the chair with his arms crossed. He’s been with my family since I was sixteen. He knows how I prefer to handle situations like this.

“Left hand,” I say, still scrolling. Command, not conversation.

Grigory screams before Boris even touches him. “Wait! Wait! I have information. About the Novikov family. They’re planning something big.”

“The Novikovs are always planning something big. That’s not valuable information.”

“But this is different. They’ve been meeting with someone from Moscow’s financial elite. Someone with government connections.”

Nowthatgets my attention. I hold up a hand, and Boris stops.

“Names.”

“I don’t know the name. But I saw them meeting at that club on Tverskaya Street. The one with the private rooms upstairs.”

“When?”

“Three nights ago. Maybe four.”

I pull out my phone again and text one of our intelligence contacts. Within two minutes, I have confirmation that Grigory’s story checks out. The Novikovs have been unusually active in areas they don’t normally operate.

“Your information bought you one week,” I tell Grigory. “Get me my money by then, or Boris breaks both hands. Understand?”

He nods frantically, still crying.

“Get him out of here.”

Boris cuts the zip ties and drags Grigory toward the exit. I stay behind in the empty warehouse, checking messages while I think about what Grigory said. The Novikovs expanding their territory means we need to respond. We can’t let them think we’re weak.

My phone goes off with a text from Dmitri.

How did it go?

Fine. Got useful intel about the Novikovs.

Good. Come by the house when we’re back from our honeymoon. I want to hear about it.

I pocket my phone and head for my car. The drive back into the city gives me time to think. About territory. Power. About the endless chess game that keeps this city mine.

But my mind keeps drifting back to last night. To the garden. To Mila Andreeva pressed against that wall, coming apart around my fingers.

Fuck.

I’ve had plenty of women. Beautiful women who knew what they were doing. Women who understood the rules and never expected more than I was willing to give.

But none of them ever looked at me the way Mila did. Like she hated wanting me. Like her body and her brain were at war, and neither side was winning.

The memory of how wet she was, and how tight around my fingers, makes my cock stir. I adjust myself and focus on the road. This is ridiculous. I’m thirty-three years old. Too old to beobsessing over a woman who made it clear she wants nothing to do with our world.

Except she didn’t say no last night. Didn’t push me away or tell me to stop. She grabbed my shoulders and rode my hand like she couldn’t get enough.

I pull into the parking garage of my building and take the elevator up to my penthouse. The place is how I left it this morning. Clean. Organized. Empty.

Too empty.

I pour three fingers of whiskey and stare down at my city. It’s full of people making decisions that will shape their futures. Smart decisions. Stupid decisions. Decisions they’ll regret.

Mila decided six months ago to walk away from our arrangement. Smart, probably. Safer for her to finish her education and stay out of our world.