Page 85 of Critical Mass
“Two men, six feet, athletic build, dark suits,” Hudson provided. “They moved like military or private security. One had a scar above his left eyebrow. The other had a tattoo on his neck, partially visible above his collar. Looked like Cyrillic script.”
Dimitri’s expression darkened. “Volkov’s people.”
Hudson kept his expression neutral, though his heart hammered.
He had to be talking about Alexei Volkov. Natalie had mentioned him earlier. He was only one of the most dangerous and powerful men in the world.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
Alexei Volkov.Russian born, more money than he could count, and nothing better to do with his time than devising ways to exert power over people.
But it was more than that.
Hudson was fairly certain the man was a sociopath.
“You know them?” Natalie asked her father.
“We knowofthem,” Ravenscroft said. “Alexei Volkov runs a rival shipping operation out of Baltimore. We’ve had . . . disagreements about territorial boundaries.”
“Disagreements violent enough that he’d send people after your daughter?” Hudson kept his tone respectful but pointed.
Ravenscroft’s eyes hardened. “Volkov doesn’t play by civilized rules. If he thinks hurting Natalie will give him leverage over me, he won’t hesitate.”
The explanation was plausible.Tooplausible. Hudson couldn’t tell if it was the truth or a convenient cover story.
“Which is why you’re not staying here.” Ravenscroft turned to Natalie. “Pack a bag. You’re coming to the estate where I can protect you properly.”
Her eyes widened. “Dad, I don’t think?—”
“This isn’t a discussion, Natalie.” Ravenscroft’s voice carried the weight of command. “Someone broke into your house. Now they’ve tried to grab you from your own driveway. I’m not leaving you here to remain a target.”
Natalie’s jaw tightened as if she were preparing to argue.
Hudson caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head.
Fighting this would look suspicious. Someone in her shoes would accept her father’s protection.
Even if that protection felt more like imprisonment.
Natalie climbed the stairs to her bedroom, her father’s command ringing in her ears.
She didn’t want to go to his estate. Didn’t want to be under his roof, under his control, pretending everything was normal when she was secretly gathering evidence against him.
But refusing would raise questions she couldn’t answer.
She pulled a suitcase from her closet and began packing—enough clothes for a few days, toiletries, her laptop. All the while, her mind raced through the implications.
Living at her father’s house meant constant proximity to him. It meant trying to maintain her cover while surrounded by his security, his staff, his world.
It meant abandoning—at least temporarily—the life she’d been trying to build for herself. The independence she’d been working toward.
For months now, she’d been planning to leave Ravenscroft International. To start her own PR firm, build something that was hers rather than an extension of her father’s empire. She’d been quietly researching office space, reaching out to potential clients, saving money for the leap.
Her father didn’t know. She hadn’t told him yet, hadn’t found the courage to say the words that would hurt him:I don’t want to work for you anymore. I need to prove I can succeed on my own.
Now, with everything that was happening, that dream felt impossibly distant. Like something from another life.
