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Keeping her safe was going to be much harder than I thought, but I would do everything in my power to make sure she stayed alive.
Even if that meant keeping her here as my prisoner after all.
The afternoon had waned into evening, and I sighed, reviewing the new security protocols with Sergei for the third time in my study.
We needed to be careful.
Moreso, we needed to be hypervigilant. Riley’s life depended on it.
When the perimeter alarms silently alerted me to an arrival at the gates of my estate, I tensed and then my phone buzzed with a notification from the front cameras.
I tapped the screen, my pulse quickening as the live feed displayed several black SUVs lined up outside, engines idling, dark tinted windows concealing who was inside, but I had a distinct feeling that I already knew who it was.
Shit was hitting the fan already.
“Looks like we have company,” I murmured, standing up. Sergei followed suit, his jawline tense with anticipation.
“Orlov’s men?” he asked, hand instinctively going to the gun holstered under his jacket.
“Most likely,” I replied, eyes fixed on the screen. “Let’s see what they want.”
We made our way to the front door, my mind racing through various scenarios. This could be a show of power, a negotiation, or a prelude to an attack. Mikhail Orlov was known for his brutal efficiency and lack of subtlety in the way he conducted business. If he already knew I was responsible for Gregor’s death, this visit would hardly be a courtesy call.
As I opened the door, I was greeted by the sight of three large men stepping out of the lead vehicle. They approached with deliberate slowness, their suits doing little to conceal their bulky physiques.
Apparently, Mikhail had sent his enforcers, likely to try to scare me, but I didn’t scare easily.
He’d learn that soon enough.
The leader, a tall man with a scar tracing down his left cheek, stopped a few feet away from the doorstep.
“Maxim Morozov?” His voice was deep, carrying a heavy Russian accent.
“That’s me,” I confirmed, standing my ground. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We are here on behalf of Mikhail Orlov,” the man stated, his voice carrying a hint of a threat. “He sends his regards and a message.”
“And the message is?” I prompted. I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders, presenting myself as a calm, brave front.
I wasn’t going to let them intimidate me.
“That the death of his nephew will not go unanswered,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Mikhail Orlov expects retribution or compensation. And he is not a man who enjoys waiting.”
I assessed him coolly before I spoke.
“Tell Mikhail that I am not a man who is threatened lightly either. If it is peace he wants, then peace he shall have. If it is war, he will find I am more than prepared.”
The man’s eyes flicked to Sergei and then back to me. “We will relay your message.”
This was far from over, and every move from here on out would need to be precise and calculated.
I needed to show them that I had backbone, and that I wasn’t a man to be trifled with either.
“Do that,” I replied. As they turned to leave, I added, “And let Mikhail know he’s welcome to discuss this in person, should he prefer diplomacy to threats.”
“I will relay that as well,” the leader answered.
The enforcers spun sharply on their heels, their movements coordinated and deliberate as they marched back to their SUVs. The lead vehicle’s door closed with a definitive thud, and I breathed a sigh of restrained anger.
