Page 74 of Dirty Damage

If I walk out of this office now, I’ll go to my penthouse.

I’ll find Sutton.

I’ll cross all the lines I’ve set for myself.

So I bury myself in work until I can think straight.

I let Uncle Boris stew until sunset. By then, his texts have evolved from passive-aggressive to outright hostile.

Good. An angry Boris is a careless Boris.

I leave the office and head to his waterfront mansion. Instead of taking my car to the front entrance, I sail my sloop right into his private marina.

I pass the collection of overpriced toys he calls a fleet. Toys bought and paid for with my father’s money.

Money that should’ve beenmine.

One day soon, it’ll all be mine again.

As I disembark and walk down the dock, something catches my eye on the side of his favorite catamaran: the symbol of my new security system emblazoned in the shiny paint. The exact one he voted against at last week’s board meeting.

Well, well. Isn’t that interesting?

I creep closer for a better look when flashlight beams blind me from three directions.

“Don’t move,” a voice barks. “You’re trespassing on private property.”

I turn slowly, letting the light catch my scars. “Actually, I was invited.”

“Mr. Oleg!” The head of security lowers his gun so fast he nearly drops it. “I didn’t realize?—”

“Obviously. Or you’d have brought better firepower.” I eye his pathetic little 9mm. “Tell my uncle I’m here.”

“No need for that.” Boris’s voice slices through the darkness. “You always did know how to make an entrance, Oleg.”

His hands are in his pockets, and I notice he hasn’t moved to dismiss his men. Their weapons are lowered, but they are still surrounding me at the ready.

“I was just admiring your new security features.” I nod at the catamaran. “I’m surprised, considering your stance at the board meeting.”

He lifts a cigar, the end smoldering orange in the darkness. His hand shakes slightly, but he hides it well. “One can’t be too careful.”

“Indeed.” I step past his men like they’re no more than garden statues. “But it is curious that your private marina has better protection than Pavlov Industries and my marina combined. Your priorities seem… misaligned.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m a collector, nephew. Rare coins. Antiques. The kind of things that tempt even amateur thieves.”

“It’s a poorpakhanwho puts his own personal safety and interests above those of his company and his Bratva.”

Boris’s face twitches. “What would you know about beingpakhan?”

“Everything my father taught me.”

The air between us crackles. Old wounds and the grudges that predate them.

Boris recovers first, ever the politician. “Bogdan was a good brother and father. Come inside and join me for a drink. We’ll toast to his memory. I just opened a bottle of whiskey.”

He’s not lying. I can smell the liquor on his breath.

He leads me to his patio—a stone slab surrounded on all sides by statues of predators frozen mid-attack like they’re about to lunge at us.

---