Page 34 of Bratva's Intern

Archie made a strangled sound in his throat. “You’re downplaying the significance of this role, don’t you think, Mr. Morozov?”

I pinned him with a steely gaze. “No need to overcomplicate things, Archie. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine when you return to Chicago.”

“Two days is very little time, sir,” Wren squeaked.

“You won’t disappoint me, will you, Wren?”

He stared at me, his eyes wide. He shook his head hard. “No, sir. I will try my best not to disappoint you. But?—”

“Archie will take you now to sign an NDA. It is crucial that whatever happens in this office—whatever you may hear or see—remains confidential. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” I checked my Rolex. “Archie, please find something appropriate for Wren to wear today. At one, I will take him shopping to get some decent attire. You’re dismissed.”

“Shopping? You want to take me shopping?”

“Take a look around you, Wren. Everyone here dresses to a certain standard. Once you work here, you represent Morozov. You’ll work directly for me, which means you must look and be the best. Dismissed.”

“This way, please,” Archie said when Wren looked ready to argue. I reached for my mouse to show him I was done talking to him. Those rags he called clothes didn’t suit him. The hideous things had to go. If I didn’t have a meeting in anhour, I would have taken him shopping right then, but I could bear the ugly attire for a few hours.

Despite Archie’s concerns—and I had them too, even though I didn’t voice them—Wren didn’t mess up once on the job. He ran files to my office like Archie requested, answered and transferred calls to me, and even managed to get me another cup of coffee accident-free. When I thanked him for the coffee, his eyes had lit up, a small victory clearly marked on his face.

My meeting went well, and I was in a good mood. My shipment of luxury cars from Europe should arrive in the country next week, and our plan to smuggle cryptowallets into the country was right on schedule. Although real estate was the backbone of Morozov, my empire had tripled its wealth because I dabbled wherever there were profits to be made from cars to wine and cigars. The backdoor dealing was icing on the cake.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey and stood at the glass wall, looking over the bustling city down below. This was the business district. It was easy to tell by looking at the suits and ties, briefcases, expensive cars, and sleek skyscrapers. They appeared hardworking people, but behind closed doors, they were marauders, wild animals on a hunt for power and status. We were in a concrete jungle where the rule of law was simple—to eat or be eaten.

I’d eaten more than my share.

The intercom crackled to life.

“Mr. Morozov, the police chief is here to see you.”

Wren’s voice. Hesitant but clear. He sounded better than when he’d first used the intercom earlier, stuttering on every word.

I scowled at the speaker. The police chief. That bastard never showed up unless he wanted something. He was one of those I couldn’t eat yet because he was resourceful. Lately, he’d been getting on my nerves.

I walked over to my desk and pressed the button on the intercom. “Tell him I'm not available.”

Who did he think he was demanding to see me at his whim? He needed to make an appointment, just like everyone else.

“Understood, sir.”

I exhaled, dragging a hand down my face. My patience for these power plays was thin, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to let some two-bit cop shake me down in my office. I swallowed a mouthful of my drink and checked the time. Only an hour to go before I would take Wren shopping. He could go on his own. All he needed was a company card, but I didn’t trust his judgment to buy proper clothes. I needed to see him in a suit that fit his slender body.

A knock sounded on the door. A deliberate, confident rap that didn’t sound like Wren. He knocked like he was being forced to enter my office at gunpoint.

“Enter.”

The door swung open, revealing a middle-aged, stocky man dressed in a suit. He smiled like we were old friends. Chief Leonard Stone.

I glanced past him toward the outer office. Where the fuck was Wren? Hadn’t he heard what I’d said?

“Maxim,” Stone said, voice slick with faux camaraderie. "Your little PA must not have heard you well, so I took the liberty to let myself in anyway.”

“What are you doing here, Stone? You’re not supposed to show up here at my office.”

“I tried getting through to you, but between your bodyguard and Archie, I didn’t have any luck.”

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