Chapter 13 - The Last Ledger
The sun rose over New York Harbor on a crisp Thursday morning, painting the sky in strokes of bruised purple, burning gold, and brilliant cerulean blue.
By 10:00 a.m., the operation was complete.
Nikolai didn't leave the penthouse—he didn't need to. In the modern underworld, wars were won with leverage, finance, and absolute supremacy. By noon, encrypted reports confirmed that Viktor Vance’s assets had been frozen, his shipping contracts legally dissolved, and his local operation dismantled without a single shot fired in anger. The syndicate had simply ceased to exist, absorbed and neutralized by the sheer, overwhelming gravitational pull of Petrov Holdings.
When Nikolai returned to the private sitting room upstairs, he looked as composed as if he had spent the morning reviewing art portfolios instead of dismantling a criminal enterprise.
He found me standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a paintbrush in one hand and a palette of oils in the other, putting the finishing touches on a small canvas depicting the harbor skyline.
He walked up behind me in silence, wrapping his strong arms around my waist, resting his chin comfortably on my shoulder.
“It’s done?” I asked, not turning around, keeping my brush steady against the canvas.
“Finished,” Nikolai murmured against my neck, his breath warm and steady. “Viktor Vance is currently on a one-way flight to somewhere warm and far away, with strict instructions never to look at a shipping manifest again.”
I let out a long, shuddering breath of relief that I hadn't even realized I was holding. I set the paintbrush down on the tray, turned around in his arms, and buried my face against his chest, listening to the powerful, rhythmic beat of his heart.
May you like
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Never thank me for keeping you safe, Elena,” he said, his arms tightening around me like a fortress wall. “You are the only thing in my life that cannot be replaced.”
