Page 166 of Dirty Damage

Violence.

Retribution.

“Meet me at the office in an hour,” I tell Oksana. “We’ll regroup there.”

“It might be too late for game plans now, son.”

I glance back toward the bedroom where Sutton sleeps, unaware that our world is shifting beneath our feet. “We’ll see about that.”

The Pavlov lobby is a tomb at this hour. My footsteps crack against the floor as I stride toward the private elevator.

The night security guard doesn’t even look up—he knows better than to question my presence, no matter the hour.

In stark contrast, my office is already humming with activity when I arrive. Three hackers huddle around their laptops, bathed in the blue glow of their screens.

“Well?” Oksana prowls the space, twitching with fury and caffeine. At this rate, she’ll vibrate through the floor before sunrise.

Kate’s fingers never stop moving across her keyboard. “This is a process, Ms. Pavlova. These firewalls weren’t built in a day, and they won’t come down in one, either.”

Oksana’s heel scrapes against the floor as she spins away without a word.

An hour later, the orange glow of sunrise is just starting to paint the skyline when Kate’s triumphant cry splits the pre-dawn silence.

“Aha! Got the bastard!”

We converge on her station. The numbers on her screen tell a story of greed and betrayal in cold, hard digits.

“Ten times market value,” I growl, the words tasting like bile. “He’s not just burning money—he’s dousing it in gasoline and throwing matches at it.”

But it’s the name attached to the receiving account that makes my blood run cold.

Martinek Group.

The office falls into a silence so complete I can hear the hum of the computers, the soft whisper of the air conditioning, the rapid-fire clicking of Kate’s fingers against keys as she digs deeper into the digital grave Boris has dug for us all.

“I can’t believe he would do this,” Oksana whispers.

For the first time tonight, I hear real fear beneath her anger. The Martineks aren’t just business rivals—they’re the bogeymen that have haunted the Pavlov family for generations.

Kate glances between us, curiosity warring with professional detachment on her face. “The Martineks?”

“The biggest Bratva on this side of the States,” I tell her, my voice like gravel in my throat. “And our biggest rival. In business and beyond.”

Oksana backs away from the screens as if they’re contaminated. “Your father spent his life keeping them at bay. Every sacrifice, every late night, every missed family dinner—all of it was to keep the Martineks from taking what he built.” Her voice breaks. “And Boris just handed it to them gift-wrapped.”

I turn away from the damning evidence on the screen, my mind already racing through contingencies.

There’s always a way out. Always an angle.

I just have to find it.

“There has to be some way to reverse this,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

“The money is gone, Oleg. The only thing left to do is hunt Boris down and kill him.” She looks at me. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Longer than you have,” I admit. “But Boris isn’t stupid. Stubborn, yes. Short-sighted, maybe. But he wouldn’t make a move like this without a reason.”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s throwing his lot in with the Martineks.”

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