Page 36 of Innocently Imprisoned By the Bratva

“People like you, I assume?” I ask. I’ve seen Yuri in quiet conversations, often attending meetings around the house as well. Just recently, we went to the Zolotov head Ivan’s house. Yuri was there, too.

Yuri shrugs with humility.

“So,” I whisper. “Are you saying not everyone in the office knows what goes on around here in terms of the illegal operations?”

“Exactly!” he tells me, looking around, still speaking under his breath.

The realization hits me like a whirlwind. “But how do they manage to keep secrets in a company this large?” I ask, still in disbelief.

“Because, Pippa, it is a company this large. Secrets are easier to lose in a crowded place.”

“Amazing,” I shake my head, soaking it in.

“Now come, look over these numbers for us.” He points at a spreadsheet and passes me a chair.

***

Later that afternoon, my heels click against the polished floor as I follow Boris's secretary, Tasha, down a long corridor. Her professional demeanor and no-nonsense attitude are always evident. Over the last few weeks, I’ve learned she wastes no time on small talk.

Today, she launches straight into an explanation of my duties. Since my first day here, this is my first round in internship rotation under her guidance.

"Alright, Pippa, you'll be working closely with me," she says briskly. "Our job is to manage Boris's appointments, handle correspondence, and ensure that everything in this office runs smoothly."

"Understood," I reply, trying to match her efficient tone.

As we settle into our shared office space, I overhear snippets of hushed conversations from the adjacent room, hinting at something darker beneath the surface of this seemingly ordinary business.

"Did you hear what happened to Alexei last week?" one voice whispers. "Crossed the wrong people, got caught up in some deep mess…"

"Shh!" another hisses, cutting off the first speaker. "We're not supposed to talk about that stuff here."

I try to ignore the chatter, focusing on the tasks Tasha assigns me. But curiosity gnaws at me, urging me to dig deeper, to uncover the hidden truths that lurk within these walls.

"Hey, Tasha," I ask casually, attempting to steer the conversation toward the clandestine activities I suspect these men are talking about. "Is there anything unusual or… forbidden that I should know about?"

She raises an eyebrow, sizing me up for a moment before answering. "Pippa, our job is to support Boris, not to pry into his personal affairs. Whatever goes on outside this office is none of our concern. Understand?"

"Of course," I respond quickly, chastened by her sharp tone. Despite her warning, the seeds of doubt have already been planted, and I can't help but feel that there's much more to this office—and its inhabitants—than meets the eye.

***

I find myself in the break room, stirring a cup of coffee I don't really want and trying to appear nonchalant. The hum of animated conversations fills the air, but I'm not here for casual chitchat—I'm on a mission. My heart races as I remind myself that I'm playing detective, determined to unveil whatever secrets lie beneath the surface of this office.

"Hey, new girl!" A coworker named Alex greets me, leaning against the counter beside me. "How's your first week going?"

"Good, thanks," I reply, forcing a smile. "Everyone's been really helpful." I take a sip of the scalding coffee, wincing as it burns my tongue. This is my chance to dig deeper, so I casually ask, "By the way, do people ever… I don't know, talk about the more… unusual aspects of working here?"

"Unusual?" He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my question. "You mean like the office gossip? Or are we talking about something more…sinister?"

"Sinister might be the word." I try to maintain a light tone, hoping he'll open up.

Alex grins, leaning in closer. "Well, I've heard some whispers about underground dealings and connections to some pretty powerful players, but who knows if any of it's true?"

"Interesting," I say, attempting to keep my voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside me. "But how would anyone even get involved in that kind of thing?"

"Beats me," he shrugs, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Some people just have a knack for finding trouble, you know? But I know the Zolotovs, and they’re nothing like that. They always pay their taxes in advance. Just last year, an employee’s kid got cancer. They gave her the full year off, fully paid, just so she could help her kid out with appointments and all. People who talk shit about them are just bigots. They do so much around here, and to hear such horrid whispers… it’s just not right!"

I nod thoughtfully, surprised to learn of the Zolotov generosity.

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