Page 8 of Single Mom's Daddies
“No,” I grit out. “But I’d like to keep the murder trophies off the dining table.”
He shrugs. “You won’t win that one.”
“I know.”
He watches me carefully. “What else is wrong?”
I glance at the tablet again. “Auction house. Renner sent a red flag.”
Nikolai’s face hardens. “Feds?”
“He won’t say it. But yes. I’m certain of it.”
He moves to the liquor cart and pours himself a short glass of vodka—no ice, no mixer. Just muscle memory. “We knew it wouldn’t stay clean forever.”
“It’s not about staying clean. It’s about staying quiet.”
He sips and nods. “How long before you tell Victor?”
“When I see him.”
“You think this ties back to Svet?”
“Unclear.” I sigh, wondering the answer myself. “Could be a clerk in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or it could be deliberate.”
“Deliberate means someone sold us out.”
“Yes.”
“And we’d have to answer that.”
“Yes.”
He drains the glass and sets it down with a click. “I’ll start running background on recent buyers. Maybe one of them got clever.”
I nod. “Careful. No digital trails.”
“You think I’m an amateur?”
“I think you’re fast. Sometimes too fast to do things the right way.”
He grins. “Admit it—you like my style.”
“It’s exhausting.”
“Then hire better help.” That hangs in the air longer than it should. He sees it. “Roman,” he says slowly, “what’s going on?”
I shake my head. “The kids.”
He frowns. “What about them?”
“They’re slipping through the cracks. Asking questions. Wandering where they shouldn’t. And now Mila’s halfway to organizing a tour of Olenna’s fucking bone collection.”
He snorts.
I don’t. “I’m not saying they’re bad. But we’re spread too thin. Victor’s distracted with the city council bullshit. You’re dealing with Yuri and Max. I’m trying to keep a dozen fronts from caving in. We need help.”
“You want to bring in more staff?”
