Page 76 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Normal, in a room full of men who should’ve scared that out of her by now.

I shift my grip from the desk to the back of a chair. Those men get that second from her. I tell myself I’m watching for security risks. The lie lasts until Yuri laughs again.

Vasin’s attention stays on her face, then on the loose strand near her cheek, then on the way she works with anger sitting under focus.

Once before, he used the wrong word. Authorized subject. He was corrected. Here he is again. Careless once is a mistake. Careless twice is a pattern I remove.

I turn toward Abramov, who has just entered with a folder tucked under one arm. “Move Vasin.”

Abramov’s gaze cuts to the guard, then to Cara. He understands before I give the reason.

“Rear grounds?” he asks.

“Rear grounds.”

Vasin straightens. “Antonov?”

“You lack discipline around protected assets,” I say.

My voice leaves him no place to argue.

Color rises under his collar. “Yes, sir.”

Cara’s fingers pause on the keyboard. She doesn’t turn, which tells me she heard every word and caught the ones I chose. Protected asset.

Abramov points Vasin out with two fingers, and the guard leaves through the side door, spine stiff, pride bruised, career intact for now.

Yuri keeps his attention on the monitor. His smile is gone. Kirill is back at his monitor.

Cara pushes back from the desk. “I’m tired.”

She looks at Sergei. “Can you take me back to my rooms?”

The chair under my hand creaks once. Sergei doesn’t move. Smart man.

I look at Cara. “I’ll take you.”

Her smile is small and lethal. “I didn’t ask you.”

Every man in the annex suddenly remembers his screen. I open my mouth to answer her, then shut it before I give every man in the annex something worth hearing.

I turn to Sergei. “Take her back.”

Sergei nods once. “Miss O’Connell.”

Cara walks past me without a word. She gets what she asked for.

I let the distance stand for now.

17

DMITRI

Work pulls me from the north wing.

The estate is moving in ten directions at once. Abramov has the freight strike under internal review. Petrov has finance men tracking fake clearance codes through vendor accounts. Leonid comes from the legal corridor with his glasses sliding down his nose, a bundle of affidavits and customs notices under one arm, and the face of a man ready to threaten half of Riga before lunch. He pushes his glasses back up with one finger and keeps walking.

I sign two route freezes, approve one recovery team, and deny Petrov’s request to pressure Anton Valev, the owner of the Riga bonded warehouse. Morozov wants us angry and careless. Maksim wants proof clean enough for other men to trust when the questions start. I want both, so I choose proof first.