Page 12 of Stalk Me

A small movement on one of my minimized screens catches my eye. Sofia, wrapped in silk, settles onto her couch. Mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

“Shall we?” I gesture to the door, but Dmitri lingers.

“Something’s different with you, Kolya. What aren’t you telling us?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

I observe my brothers, each settling into their usual roles in my office. Dmitri’s perfectionism shows in every crease of his Armani suit, while Erik maintains his watchful position by the door. Alexi, our wild card, sprawls across my Italian leather chair with characteristic disregard for furniture worth more than most cars.

“The deal with the Italians isn’t just about shipping routes,” I say, organizing papers on my desk. “It’s about establishing dominance. They need to understand their place.”

Dmitri’s ice-blue eyes narrow. “And what about the digital trail?”

“Already handled,” Alexi pipes up, pulling out his phone. “Their security is laughable. I could hack them in my sleep.”

“Nobody touches their systems without my approval.” I fix our youngest brother with a stern look. “We do this my way.”

Erik shifts, drawing attention without a word. “You’ve missed two family dinners,” he states.

“I’ve been occupied.”

“With what?” Dmitri demands. “Or should I say whom?”

My jaw clenches. “Focus on your own interests, brother.”

“Oh?” Alexi perks up, attention finally diverted from his screen. “Dmitri’s right. You’re never this secretive unless there’s a woman involved.”

“Enough.” My tone drops several degrees. “We have five minutes until the meeting. I expect everyone to be prepared and focused.”

“We are focused,” Dmitri counters. “You’re the one with distractions.”

I stand, towering over my desk. “My ‘distractions,’ as you put it, are none of your concern. What matters is the family business. Shall we deal with the Italians, or would you prefer to continue this pointless discussion?”

Erik pushes off from the wall. “As long as these distractions don’t compromise our security.”

“When have I ever compromised this family?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with decades of sacrifice and dedication. My brothers know the answer. I’ve given everything to protect them, to build our empire.

Erik’s phone rings, and his face hardens as he listens; then, he meets my eyes. “Warehouse 7. Petrov’s been skimming.”

“How much?” I ask.

“Quarter million in weapons.”

I stand, straightening my cuffs. “I’ll join you.”

Dmitri clears his throat. “And what about the board meeting?”

I narrow my eyes. “Surely you are more than capable of handling the board with Alexi?”

Erik’s eyebrow rises slightly—he usually handles these matters alone. “You sure?”

“I could use the distraction.”

We take my Bentley, Erik settling into the passenger seat. The familiar weight of his silence fills the car as I navigate downtown Boston’s evening traffic.

“You’re thinking too loud, brother.” I glance at him.

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