I study Sergey's face, looking for any sign of deception. His expression remains neutral, but something in his tone doesn't sit right with me. “What did you tell him?”
“That it wasn't his concern. That you were handling the situation.”
The answer is reasonable, but it doesn't ease the tension coiling in my gut. Too many people are asking about Elena. Too many people know she's here when she should be a secret known only to my most trusted inner circle.
“I want you to gather the senior vors,” I order, making a decision that could either expose the traitor or drive them deeper underground. “Tell them we're meeting in the penthouse in one hour.”
Sergey nods once, sharp and efficient. “Understood.”
He doesn't ask why I want the meeting there instead of here in my office. He knows the penthouse is where I conduct my most sensitive business, where the walls are thicker, and the security is absolute. It's where I go when I need to ensure complete privacy.
After Sergey leaves, I pour another vodka and force myself to think strategically. If there's a mole in my organization, they're someone close enough to access real intelligence. Someone who knows about shipments, territories, and financial arrangements. Someone who could do serious damage if they want to.
The question is, what do they want? Money? Power? Or are they working for Bennato directly?
I finish the vodka and head upstairs to change clothes. The shirt I'm wearing still carries Elena's scent, and I can't afford anydistractions during what might be the most important meeting of my life. I choose a black suit, Italian-made and perfectly tailored, with a charcoal shirt underneath. The colors are deliberate. In the Russian tradition, black represents power and authority. Today, I need both.
The penthouse occupies the entire top floor of the building, a space I reserve for only the most critical business. The room smells like cigar smoke and cold steel, familiar scents that usually bring me comfort. Today, they just remind me how alone I am at the top of this empire.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, but I keep the curtains drawn. This meeting isn't about the view. It's about survival.
I position myself behind the massive desk that dominates the room, my back to the windows. The chair is more throne than seat, designed to intimidate and impress. I need every psychological advantage I can get.
The vors file in one by one over the next few minutes. Artur arrives first. His weathered face is grim. He's been with my family since before I was born, one of the few men who knew my father personally. If he says there's a mole, then there's a mole.
Eduard enters next, his nervous energy immediately apparent. He fidgets with his sleeves and can't seem to meet my eyes directly. His wife recently gave birth to their first child, and the new responsibility has made him jumpy. But nervous men make mistakes, and mistakes can be exploited.
Peter follows, solid and dependable as always. He runs the port operations with an iron fist, ensuring our shipments move smoothly through customs. His crew respects him, and he's never given me a reason to doubt his loyalty.
Anatoly strides in with his characteristic confidence. He's younger than the others, ambitious, and eager to prove himself. He runs security for several of our legitimate businesses, and he's been asking questions about Elena. That makes him dangerous.
Andrei arrives last, apologizing for his lateness. He handles our overseas contacts, maintaining relationships with suppliers and distributors across Eastern Europe. His work requires discretion and trust, qualities that can be easily turned against us.
Sergey takes his position near the door, ready to prevent anyone from leaving if necessary. His hand rests casually near his weapon, a subtle reminder of the stakes involved.
“Thank you for coming,” I begin, my tone calm but threaded with a quiet menace. “There's been chatter. Something rotten in the air.”
The men glance at one another, tension crackling between them like electricity. No one speaks, but I can see the wheels turning in their minds. They're all calculating, wondering who might be the target of my suspicion.
“A mole,” I continue, letting the word hang in the air like a blade. “I've received word someone has been leaking information. I want to know who.”
The silence stretches until it becomes a weapon. I let it build, watching their faces for any sign of guilt or fear. Years of experience have taught me that guilty men alwaysreveal themselves eventually. They sweat, they fidget, they look everywhere except at me.
“I'm not here to play games,” I add, my voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carries more menace than shouting. “Each of you will speak. You'll update me on your operations, your contacts, and your movements. We're going to sort this out today.”
Artur goes first, detailing a recent shipment routed through the Everglades. The route was clean from start to finish, with no interference from law enforcement or rival organizations. His report is thorough and professional, exactly what I'd expect from a man of his experience.
Eduard's construction crew has been managing a new luxury complex near Brickell. The project is on schedule and under budget, with no complications. But his voice wavers slightly when he mentions the timeline and sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool air conditioning.
Peter's been handling the port with his usual efficiency. Container shipments are moving smoothly, and he's established new relationships with customs officials who appreciate our generous donations to their retirement funds. His report is solid, confident, and detailed.
Anatoly runs security for our legitimate businesses, and he's been expanding his team to cover new properties. He mentions increased police presence in certain areas, but nothing that can't be managed with the right incentives. His confidence is unwavering, but there's something in his eyes that bothers me.
Andrei's been liaising with overseas contacts, maintaining the supply chains that keep our operations profitable. He's securednew partnerships in Prague and Budapest, expanding our reach into markets Bennato can't touch. His enthusiasm seems genuine, but enthusiasm can be faked.
Nothing jumps out as obviously suspicious. But I watch their faces, cataloging every twitch, every shift in tone, every deflection. I've built my reputation on reading people, on seeing through lies and facades. If there's deception in this room, I'll find it.
I wait until the final man speaks, then let silence fall again like a heavy curtain. The tension in the room is palpable now, thick enough to cut with a knife.
