Page 23 of Shatter Me

“Then we move to more permanent solutions.” The words taste like iron on my tongue. “But first, we remind them why crossing the Ivanovs is bad for business.”

Alexi closes his laptop with a sharp snap. “I’ll start working on those security protocols.” He stands, stretching like a cat. “Try not to get distracted by any paintings while we handle this.”

I rise from my chair, crossing the space between us in two strides. Instead of flinching, my youngest brother grins up at me. The familiar spark of mischief in his eyes reminds me of when he was twelve, hacking his first government database.

“Watch yourself,” I warn, but there’s no real heat. I grip his shoulder, squeezing once. “Stay focused.”

“Always am, brother.” He winks, ducking away. “Unlike some people.”

Erik moves to follow him but pauses. His military bearing softens slightly. “We’ve got this, Dmitri. They won’t know what hit them.”

“I know.” I clasp his forearm, feeling the solid strength there. “Be careful.”

After they leave, Nikolai lingers by the window. Our silence is comfortable, weighted with years of understanding.

“You’re worried,” he observes.

“We haven’t had a true war in seven years.” I pour another finger of whiskey. “I’ve worked hard to build something legitimate. Something...”

“Something she’d respect?”

I don’t answer, but my grip tightens on the glass. I recall Natasha's fierce intelligence during board meetings, her passion when discussing art, and how she refuses to be intimidated by me. The thought of her caught in the crossfire of a gang war...

“The museum makes us vulnerable,” I admit. “Not just the business, but...”

“You.” Nikolai’s voice holds no judgment. “She makes you vulnerable.”

I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath. He’s right. I’m not thinking three moves ahead for the first time in years. I’m distracted and off-balance. And in our world, that could get people killed.

“Handle the Lebedevs first,” Nikolai says firmly. “Then figure out what to do about your curator.”

I turn to face my brother, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “Tell me something, Nikolai. Could you push her aside if it was Sofia in that museum? Focus on business?”

His jaw tightens, and I see the flicker of understanding in his eyes. We both know the answer.

“That’s different,” he says, but there’s less conviction in his tone.

“Is it?” I swirl the whiskey in my glass. “You saw her once across a crowded gallery and spent weeks orchestrating her acquisition. At least I’m trying to maintain some professional distance.”

“Professional distance?” He arches an eyebrow. “That’s what you call having Alexi hack the museum’s security feeds?”

“Says the man who had Erik’s team monitoring Sofia’s gallery for weeks.”

We share a look of mutual acknowledgment. The Ivanov weakness—once we find something worth pursuing, we become ruthlessly single-minded.

Every interaction with Natasha is a delicate dance of advance and retreat, push and pull. I tell myself it’s about maintaining control, but deep down, I know better. I’m afraid of what happens when the game ends, and she’s finally mine completely.

Because, unlike art or businesses or territory, Natasha Blackwood isn’t something I can simply possess. She’s a force of nature, challenging me at every turn. And God help me, I love it.

10

TASH

My heels click against the marble floor as I make my final rounds through the museum’s Egyptian wing. Two weeks of blessed silence from Dmitri Ivanov, though his absence nags at me more than I care to admit.

The intercom crackles. “Security breach detected. Initiating lockdown procedures.”

Red lights flash as metal barriers slide down over the windows. My heart pounds as I sprint toward the secure storage area which acts as our designated safe zone during threats.

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