Page 24 of Under His Control (Silver Fox Daddies #27)

ANATOLY

T here’s a certain calm that comes over me when violence hangs in the air—a quiet, bone-chilling certainty.

I feel it now as I stand protectively in front of Taylor, firmly planted between her and the two gorillas Ivan Smirnov brought as window dressing. Their cheap cologne mixes with the scent of Taylor’s sweet lavender, causing something feral in me to rise at the contrast.

“Touch her and you lose your hands.”

The taller guard’s smirk flickers. He’s cataloguing possibilities—size differential, angle of my stance, how quickly he can reach for his weapon before I’m on him. I’d kill him before he had a chance to move even an inch.

Ivan gives an exaggerated sigh.

“Gentlemen, please.” He spreads his stubby fingers, diamond and gold rings flashing under the low light. “Mr. Ovechkin, no need for theatrics. We’re all businessmen here.”

I turn my gaze on him. “Businessmen don’t proposition other men’s wives.”

Ivan’s brows shoot up, then his lips stretch into a broad, mocking grin.

“Forgive me. For a brief moment, I had forgotten that the assistant manager had become Mrs. Ovechkina. Let me offer my congratulations.” His laugh is insincere and unpleasant.

“We were a tad curious how a hotel clerk would be able to cover her brother’s little indulgence, or how you could be talked into footing the bill. ”

Taylor stiffens behind me with what I imagine is disgust and fury. I absorb it all, filing it away for later. Right now, the objective is to make the threat vanish.

“Your money will be available first thing in the morning, as previously discussed,” I say. “Cash. Count it twice when I deliver it, if that makes you happy.”

Ivan’s grin wavers, the earlier amusement thinning. He offers a menacing sneer as he slowly adjusts his cuffs, like he’s debating whether to push harder or let this round go.

I stare at him with a silent threat. Leave it .

Seconds stretch taut, like wire. One of his goons shifts his weight, waiting for the next move. Taylor doesn’t say a word behind me, but I can hear the subtle tremor in her exhale.

Finally, Ivan gives a clipped nod.

“You heard him,” he says, snapping his fingers at his men.

He presses the button for the elevator. The doors slide open, and the three men step inside, Ivan stepping in last. Before the doors close, he pivots, eyes dragging over Taylor like he’s committing her to memory.

“You’ll be wise to remember how much my family spends in this hotel, Anatoly. Don’t forget who pays the light bill.”

“I’m well aware of exactly how much you spend. I know what others spend, too. Vegas isn’t a one-customer town.”

The doors slide shut on Ivan’s last words. “We’ll see.”

For half a heartbeat, I consider chasing them down, just to wipe that smirk off Ivan’s face. The descending elevator mocks me, however. I exhale sharply as Taylor’s hand slips into mine, her grip warm but trembling.

A door opens across the foyer. Mrs. Belova steps out of Damas’s office, holding an archival box and looking perplexed. Her sharp gaze darts from the empty vestibule to us.

“Mr. Ovechkin?”

“How did Mr. Smirnov reach this floor, Mrs. Belova?”

“I assumed he was with you.” She sets the box down on her desk, frowning at the elevator. “I buzzed no one up. The security panel says your override was active.”

It wasn’t. Only two people carry the penthouse override: me, and my brother.

“Where were you these last fifteen minutes?” I ask tersely. I keep my tone calm. This woman has served my family for two decades.

She straightens her blazer. “Damas called and said he needed the Provident Holdings 2017 file. I found it in his archives.” Her eyes narrow. “He phoned personally.”

My pulse ticks. Damas is allegedly at a foundation dinner.

I nod, reining in my anger. “Thank you, and apologies for being so short with you.”

“None needed,” she says crisply. Then, more softly, “I can pull the elevator logs, if you’d like.”

“Taylor and I will check the cameras.”

“Understood.”

A security office sits beyond reception in a soundproof chamber outfitted with eight monitors and a wall-size touchscreen. Taylor follows me in, her professional mask sliding into place.

“Assistant Manager,” I say, deliberately using her title, “queue the footage for elevator bank three, thirty minutes ago.”

“Will do. This setup is a hell of a lot fancier than what we use downstairs.”

Her fingers deftly move over the console, and the footage comes alive. An empty elevator, then a stop at floor twenty-nine, another on thirty-five. At floor forty-eight, the doors open to reveal Ivan and his entourage already inside.

Taylor exhales. “They didn’t show up on security camera footage on any lower floors. How do they just magically appear at forty-eight?”

“Either they’re ghosts, or they had an express keycard.” I stab the screen to freeze the frame. I zoom in close. Sure enough, in the corner of Ivan’s jacket pocket, I spot a sliver of red plastic. A hotel express keycard.

Taylor nods toward the screen. “That’s executive-level tier. Those cards are only issued to ownership, Mrs. B., the head of security, and a couple of high-ranking security officers, but only the ones currently on shift.”

“Damas is considered ownership,” I mutter.

His name burns hot in my stomach. My brother and I have disagreed on many things, but this? I forward the footage to the elevator doors opening on my office floor. The camera shows Damas’s office door closed. Then Ivan marches out like he owns the place.

Taylor swallows hard. “No wonder he was comfortable.”

“He was invited,” I reply flatly.

Silence fills the space for a few minutes. Finally, Taylor speaks. “Anatoly, do you think Damas?—”

I lift a hand to stop her. “No speculating yet.” I pivot to face her fully. “Are you all right?”

She crosses her arms. “A little rattled. Mostly angry. Ivan humiliated me.”

“He tried,” I correct. “You stood tall.”

A flush crawls up her neck. Pride, and maybe surprise that I noticed her strength. My pulse kicks up at her resilience.

Part of me wishes I’d killed Ivan on the spot for talking to her the way he did. But that would’ve only started a war.

“Let’s go downstairs. Maybe we can get some answers there.”