Page 9 of Crystal Veil

Sergey:No mistakes this time. I want him to bleed.

Bianca:He will. And when he does, we rise.

Every word sears across my vision like a brand. The casual confidence, the assumption that I'm nothing more than an obstacle to be removed, and the complete lack of respect forwhat I've built or who I am. They discuss my destruction like they're planning a dinner party.

“Bianca,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

I should've destroyed her when I had the chance. I should have never let her walk out of my penthouse alive after I confronted her about her ties to Bennato. But some part of me, stupid, sentimental, and blind to her true nature, thought she was harmless. That her obsession with me and Elena was petty and emotional, the wounded pride of a woman scorned. That she'd settle into a life designing Italian villas and sipping vintage wine in some European café. Instead, she's become Bennato's poisoned knife, sliding between my ribs with surgical precision.

The memory of our last encounter floods back unbidden. She stood in my living room wearing that blood-red silk dress that had once driven me wild, her hair perfect, her makeup flawless, defiant even in the face of her treachery. I remember the way her voice broke when she accused me of replacing her with Elena. The hurt in her eyes when I told her I was cutting all ties with her. Had it all been an act? Had she already been planning this betrayal even then?

And Sergey? He's the hand guiding that knife straight into my back.

I push away from the desk and walk toward the bar, my footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug that covers the marble floor. The crystal decanters gleam under the soft lighting, filled with liquors from around the world, each one representing a different victory, a different conquered territory. I pour vodka into the nearest glass, not even bothering to chill it or add the usual accompaniments. Tonight calls for something harsh, something that burns.

The liquid fire grounds me, reminding me that I'm still in control despite the chaos swirling around me. That I am not the man who lets betrayal go unpunished. I am not my father, who sometimes showed mercy when ruthlessness was required. I am the man who buries threats so deep they become fertilizer for future growth.

The door creaks on its hinges, a sound that would normally be inaudible but stands out like a gunshot in the oppressive silence. Viktor enters, his face grave, holding a folder even thicker than the last. His usually immaculate appearance shows signs of strain, his hair mussed, and his shirt wrinkled from hours of intensive investigation.

“You're going to want to see this,” he announces, his voice carrying the bite of bad news.

I take the folder and flip it open, immediately recognizing Viktor's meticulous handwriting and organizational system. His notes are clean, tight, and organized in a way only Viktor's analytical mind can manage. Every detail was cross-referenced, every connection mapped out with the precision of a master strategist. The contents pull the warmth right out of my skin.

Transfer records show Bianca's personal accounts linked to a web of shell companies, each one designed to obscure the paper trail but not sophisticated enough to fool someone with Viktor's resources. Sergey's fingerprints are on more than one of them, both literally and figuratively. Bank statements show regular deposits that coincide with information leaks. Meeting schedules that align with Bennato's movements.

They've been building something behind my back for months, maybe longer. Funding it with my money, my resources, money that should have been strengthening our organization insteadof undermining it. Lining Bennato's pockets while pretending to serve mine.

But the most damning evidence comes at the bottom of the pile. The woman who tried to kill Elena, the assassin who left her concussed and nearly ended her life, was on one of Bianca's payrolls. A private firm out of Switzerland, officially listed as providing high-end security services but actually specializing in much sinister work. Only a few of those girls moonlight in the kind of work that puts bodies in graves.

My fingers twitch involuntarily, muscle memory from years of violence threatening to take over rational thought. I set the glass down with deliberate care, the soft clink of crystal against wood the only sound in the room. The silence wraps around me like a shroud, heavy with the burden of decisions that must be made.

“Send word to Roman,” I murmur, my voice low but carrying absolute authority. “I want Sergey confined to quarters. Tell him it's a precaution, a procedural lockdown following the dock incident. Make it sound routine.”

Viktor stiffens slightly, his analytical mind already racing ahead to the implications. “You're not confronting him directly?”

“Not yet.” I meet his eyes, letting him see the cold calculation behind my decision. “He's more valuable to me loose right now. Let him believe I'm still blind to his betrayal. He'll lead us to Bennato, to the rest of Bianca's network, and to anyone else who's been feeding information to our enemies. And when he does...”

“When he does?” Viktor presses, though I suspect he already knows the answer.

“I gut them all.”

The words fill the room like a death sentence, which is exactly what they are.

Viktor closes the folder with deliberate care, the sound of paper against paper grating my nerves. His eyes meet mine, and I see my own cold fury reflected there. He understands what this discovery means, not just for our organization but for the personal betrayal it represents.

“How long do you think this has been going on?” he asks.

I consider the question, running through the timeline of suspicious incidents over the past months. Small things that seemed insignificant at the time now take on new meanings. Missed meetings, delayed responses to urgent communications, and subtle changes in Sergey's behavior that I attributed to stress rather than guilt.

“Months,” I reply. “Since before Elena and I became involved. This level of coordination, the financial infrastructure they've built...this isn't something that happens overnight.”

How many operations have been compromised? How many of my people have died because Sergey fed information to our enemies? The dock was just a test, but there have been other incidents and other close calls that suddenly make sense in this new context.

“We need to audit everything,” Viktor continues, his analytical mind already racing ahead to damage control. “Every operation Sergey had access to, every piece of intelligence he could have shared, every vulnerability he might have exposed.”

“Do it,” I command. “But quietly. I don't want anyone else to know what we've discovered, not yet. As far as theorganization is concerned, we're conducting routine security reviews following the dock incident.”

Viktor nods, understanding the delicate balance required. Too much scrutiny too quickly would alert others that we've discovered the betrayal. Better to let Sergey continue believing he's safe while we map out the full extent of the damage.