Page 60 of Ruthless Serenade

"Last week," Igor mutters, his eyes darting around the room, making sure that nobody hears us. "We need to pull Tramoxine, boss. Now. Until we figure out if we’re somehow linked to those deaths." Igor insists, his eyes boring into mine.

I feel my teeth grinding, the muscles in my jaw jumping. "Pull Tramoxine? Are you out of your fucking mind, Igor? What about our four million patients? And the ones waiting for treatment?"

Igor’s eyes narrow, his voice rising with each word. "We’re tap-dancing on the wrong side of the law here,pahkan. If we don’t make a move, it will raise ethical concerns about the business. You know what the press can do with just a few viral articles. If we don’t do something now, they might force us to close down the entire fucking operation!"

I step closer, my voice dropping to a menacing growl. "Listen good, Igor. We don’t even know if those deaths are linked to us. Not a goddamn shred of proof. Don’t you think we should investigate first?"

Igor doesn’t back down, his breath hot on my face. "Boss, with all due respect… one of the main ingredients is illegal and it’s-"

"Then tweak the fucking formula, " I snap, cutting him off.

"You know we can’t do that without stopping production! And that’s not all,pakhan." Igor leans in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Someone’s been sniffing around. Asking questions."

I pause. "You’re telling me now? What questions?"

"Some woman contacted me." he starts, slightly hesitant. "Claimed to be a psychiatrist, calling on behalf of the Board of Psychiatry and Neurology. Apparently, one of her patients died from taking Tramoxine. She’s one of those overzealous types who wants to know every fucking detail."

I feel the blood drain from my face, but I quickly compose myself. "A psychiatrist? Did you get a name?"

Igor shakes his head. "She was probably using a fake name anyway. But she knew her shit, boss. Talked about autopsy reports, chemical compositions." He pauses. "And she knows your name. She also knows that you’re alive and keeping a low profile. I’m telling you,pakhan, this woman is dangerous."

I rub my jaw, my mind racing. "Blyad.This is the last fucking thing we need right now, Igor. Any idea how she found out about me?"

Igor shrugs. "No clue. But she said she had evidence that could 'bring down the entire operation.' Her words, not mine."

Motherfucker.

I rub my eyes and lean against the wall. Punching a hole through it suddenly seems like a tempting idea. But instead oftaking out my anger on the wall, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to dial Pavel.

"I’m listening, boss," My second-in-command’s voice crackles through the line.

"Pavel, I need a favor," I tell him. "Igor had a call from some mysterious woman, claiming to be a psychiatrist. I need you to find out who she is ASAP. I’ll text you her number in a minute. Call in favors if you need to. I want her name, background, everything."

"Got it, boss," Pavel says. "Send me the number."

I hung up the phone and turn back to Igor. He nods in understanding, but his expression remains grim. "What about Tramoxine?"

I close my eyes for a moment, weighing my options. When I open them, my decision is made. "We continue production for now. Scale back marketing, keep a low profile. We’ll get our legal team ready. If this bitch wants to go to war with us, we’ll give it to her."

As Igor nods and turns to leave, I grab his arm. "One more thing, Igor. This stays between us. No one else needs to know about our… enthusiastic psychiatrist. Got it?"

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mindy

"What do you want for dinner, baby?" I ask Sharon. "Chicken nuggets? Meatballs with pasta?"

Sharon shakes her head. "I'm not hungry, Mommy," she mumbles, looking down at her feet.

I furrow my brow. My daughter loves her food and never refuses dinner.

"How about your favorite, baby?" I gently stroke her hair. "Fish fingers with mashed potato?"

"I'm not hungry," she repeats. "My tummy hurts." She clutches at her stomach.

I feel a flare of frustration. I should have known better than to let her eat almost an entire box of chocolate after lunch. Despite her protests, I manage to coax her into eating a few bites of toast and sipping some water, but I can tell she doesn’t want it.

The rest of the evening passes in a haze of worry and guilt. I keep a close eye on her, hoping her stomachache will magically disappear, but her discomfort lingers. As bedtime approaches, I decide that a good night’s sleep might be just what she needs. I run a warm bath, but even as I lift her into the tub, she still looks pale and weak.

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