Page 128 of Bratva's Intern

Instead, I was here. Creeping around the office like some deranged boyfriend from a soap opera. Not even a boyfriend. Just the summer fling. A hot, fucked-out, emotionally confusing fling.

I headed to the bathroom to freshen up. Dammit, I was upset with Maxim, but I still wanted him to take me over his desk. His fantasy had morphed into my own. When I was done, I stared at myself in the mirror a little too long.

Maybe I shouldn’t sleep with him again. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

Laughable.

As if I could stop this train wreck I was on.

Maxim owned my soul for as long as he wanted it. I was his walking, talking Fleshlight.

And fuck, it sounded bad, but I liked, no,lovedbeing that for him.

I stepped out into the hallway, rubbing my palms against my pants, my stomach still twisted up. I hadn’t figured out what I was going to say when he saw me. Should I act like it was no big deal or call him out for the whole “surveillance without consent” thing?

I reached my desk and stopped short.

Two men stepped out of Maxim’s office along with Maxim and one of his bodyguards.

They didn’t look like businessmen. Didn’t look like anything I’d expect to see on the fifteenth floor of a luxury property empire.

Dark suits. Broad shoulders. Scarred faces. One of themhad a tattoo snaking up his neck and a scar that looked like it told a story no one lived to repeat.

They were speaking Russian. Low and harsh, like their voices could cut glass.

And one of them had a gun tucked openly into a shoulder holster.

Not hidden. Not even subtle.

Maxim stood in the doorway, arms folded. His expression was thundercloud dark, and his eyes locked on me like I’d just done something very, very wrong.

And maybe I had.

Because the look he gave me said I wasn’t supposed to be here. Were these men threatening Maxim? I glanced at the phone.

What chance did I have of dialing 911 before I was shot?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MAXIM

The voices in the room had risen to a low roar.

Men like these didn’t raise their voices unless they wanted to be heard like gunfire.

I sat around my desk, stone-faced, fingers steepled beneath my chin while two grown men argued in thick Russian. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glowed with all its oblivious, glittering normalcy. Inside, the tension threatened to snap and draw blood.

“This is unacceptable,” Boris spat, jabbing a nicotine-stained finger toward the file on the table. “That crypto was not all yours. You don’t get to decide to abandon that kind of money. Some of it belongs to Arkady, who you convinced this would be a safe way to move his assets.”

I didn’t flinch. “It was confiscated at the airport. That’s a risk we all knew was possible. No one is saying to leave the wallets in the hands of the authorities indefinitely, but we have to be sensible, find their weakness, and exploit it. At the right time.”

“Some people are saying you’ve already collected the wallets.”

I shrugged. “What Arkady chooses to believe is not my concern.”

“Not your concern?” Gennadi, younger, more muscle than brain, leaned forward. “Arkady’s ready to make a move to recover the assets himself if you don’t intervene. He’s not a coward hiding behind expensive suits and sitting in offices with bulletproof glass.” He sneered, his eyes flashing dangerously.

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