Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
And I’m not sure I want to know what.
By the time I get off the subway and trudge up the stairs of my apartment building, my head is still spinning from the nightmare of a meeting with Lev. My folder is clutched so tightly to my chest, it’s a wonder the cardboard hasn’t torn. Every word of his rage echoes in my mind.
He hadn’t just been angry. The reaction was too sharp, too heavy. It rattled me more than I wanted to admit, and the sound of the glass shattering afterward clung to me the whole ride home.
All I want is to collapse onto the couch with Susie, drink a cheap glass of wine, and forget the way Lev’s eyes burned when he ordered me out of his office.
But when I push our apartment door open, everything inside me goes still.
A man sits at our tiny kitchen table. He wears a suit, dark but not flashy, his tie loosened as if he has been waiting. His hair is close-cropped, his jaw clean-shaven, his expression calm in a way that immediately puts me on edge. His hands rest lightly on the table in front of him, palms down, his jacket pulled just enough to reveal the faint glint of a badge clipped to his belt.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask him sharply.
The man stands smoothly, pulling out a leather wallet and flipping it open. The gold shield catches the dim light of our overhead bulb. “Special Agent Cole,” he replies evenly. “FBI.”
My stomach drops. “FBI?”
He closes the wallet and slides it back into his jacket. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude, but we need to talk.”
Susie pokes her head out of her room, shooting me a panicked and confused look. I shrug at her and wave her back.
“Privately,” Agent Cole amends, louder than necessary, as if he can see Susie behind him.
She quickly retreats back into her room, but I know she’s standing by her door, listening as intently as she can.
Agent Cole’s mouth tightens, but his tone stays calm. “I’d like to keep this conversation professional, Ms. Gonzales.”
I feel my throat dry out, my pulse racing.
“What is this about?” I ask, sinking into the chair across from him, my pulse pounding.
He looks at me directly, his gaze steady and almost too sharp. “It’s about your employer, Lev Borikov.”
The room tilts, and I’m glad I’m seated. “What about him?”
Agent Cole’s voice lowers, his words precise. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Borikov is a very powerful man. In addition to running Levcon Industries, he is also the leader of a dangerous criminal organization.”
The words crash through me with the force of a storm. They don’t fit with the man whose cologne had lingered on my skin, whose hand had guided me through a dark hallway, whose mouth had claimed mine with a desperate urgency. They don’t fit with the cold CEO who barks orders across a polished desk. And yet, as soon as Cole says it, something inside me clicks into place.
The fury over missing money. The men in dark suits storming his office. The sense of command that went beyond business.
It all fits.
My heart pounds in my ears. “No. That can’t be right.”
Cole’s expression doesn’t change. “I assure you, it’s right. Lev Borikov runs a prominent Russian Bratva. Levcon is his legitimate front, but the money moving through that company funds racketeering, extortion, and arms trafficking. He is as dangerous as they come.”
I shake my head, clinging to the chair like it might anchor me. “I’ve only been there two weeks. You can’t be serious.”
Agent Cole nods once. “I’m afraid I’m very serious. And that puts you in a very precarious position, Ms. Gonzales. You work directly under him. You see his accounts. You are in a position to either help us or bury yourself alongside him.”
I stare at him, the words sinking like stones. My stomach turns.
“I don’t know anything,” I blurt. “I’ve barely started. I don’t—”
“That’s not exactly true, is it?” Cole interrupts, his tone sharper now. “You’ve already uncovered discrepancies, haven’t you? Money missing? Numbers that don’t add up?”
My blood goes cold. He knows. Somehow, he already knows.
I force my face blank. “No. I haven’t.”
His eyes narrow, studying me as if he could peel away the truth just by staring long enough. “Be very careful, Ms. Gonzales. Withholding information in an active investigation can land you in prison. You think Mr. Borikov will protect you if things go bad? He’ll let you take the fall and never look back.”
The words cut, because a part of me knows they might be true. Lev’s cold dismissal, his fury when I brought him the discrepancies, were all about self-preservation. He hadn’t cared how it looked for me. He hadn’t cared how small it made me feel.
But there is another part of me, the part that remembers the heat in his kiss, the steel of his presence. That part of me wants to protect him.