Chapter 19

Lev

"… a nd if we adjust the projections based on last quarter's growth, we should see a 15% increase in revenue compared to…" Yuri's voice becomes a backdrop to my scattered thoughts.

I'm sitting across from Luk and Yuri, the conference table cluttered with charts and financial figures. I lean back, rubbing the bridge of my nose as Yuri drones on.

As I scan the figures, they blur into lines and numbers, none of which I'm truly seeing.

"You seem distracted today, Lev. Something on your mind?" Luk's eyes are sharp, missing nothing.

I exhale slowly, nodding. "It has nothing to do with the numbers.”

Yuri leans forward, interest piqued. "What is it then? If it's affecting you this much, maybe we can help."

I hesitate, my fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the leather of my chair. "It's a personal matter," I finally say.

Luk presses, a knowing smirk playing across his lips. "We can sideline the business talk for a bit. Whatever's on your mind seems to need airing out more than these figures.”

Yuri chuckles, the sound echoing lightly in the spacious room. "Since when does Lev put personal matters on the table? This must be serious."

I exhale slowly, the weight of the topic pressing down. "You're right, Yuri. Normally, I wouldn't bring personal issues here, but this affects us all."

Both men lean in, their previous amusement shifting to seriousness as they sense the gravity in my tone.

"It's about Dalia," I start. "She's pregnant."

Luk and Yuri exchange a brief glance before erupting into congratulations. Luk, animated by the news, jumps from his seat and heads straight for my hidden stash of scotch usually reserved for closing monumental deals. Meanwhile, Yuri grabs a set of glasses, setting the stage for celebration.

I remain seated, a silent observer to their jubilation. Yuri, noticing my reserved demeanor, approaches with a filled glass, his expression curious.

"Why the long face, Lev? This is great news," he says as he hands me the scotch.

Accepting the glass, I take a slow sip, the rich warmth of the aged liquor doing little to ease my concerns. "I appreciate the celebration, but it's not just about becoming a father," I admit. "It's the danger that's lurking around us. Things in the city are getting more volatile, and it’s my responsibility to ensure Dalia and our child are safe."

The room grows quiet, my words tempering the initial excitement. The reality of our situation and the threats we face begin to settle in around us.

Yuri chuckles, breaking the sudden solemnity. I frown, irritation flaring.

"What's so funny?" I’m not in the mood for levity.

He shakes his head, his laughter subsiding as he sees my serious expression. "It's not mockery, Lev," Yuri clarifies, still with a hint of amusement. "It's just so typical of you. Here you are, about to become a father, and all you can focus on is shielding Dalia and your unborn child from potential threats."

Luk chimes in with a nod, his own smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "He's right. You need to realize the gift you’re being given, brother.”

Yuri claps a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. "Look, you’re doing the right thing by being vigilant, especially with everything that’s going on," he says earnestly. "But don’t forget to take a moment to just celebrate. You're going to be a dad. That’s worth a smile, at least."

The lightness in their voices and the sincerity behind their words gradually ease the tension in my shoulders.

"Maybe you're right," I admit. "A toast then, for what it's worth."

Yuri raises his glass. “To Lev and Dalia.”

We clink our glasses, the sound leaving a lasting echo. I take a measured sip of the scotch, its rich, complex flavor grounding me for a moment.

Luk eyes me intently. "So, what's next, Lev?"

I place my glass down. "She’s moving in with me.”

Yuri’s eyebrow quirks up. "Is that what she wants?"

I fix him with a look, my voice flat and direct. "It’s a security measure," I answer sharply.

Luk and Yuri share another look, the kind that says they know more than they're letting on, and this time I'm quick to cut them off.

"Things are fine with Dalia," I state firmly, "but don't start planning the wedding just yet. For all I know, she might want her independence, even prefer being a single mother—with my support, naturally."

I'm adamant about respecting her choices, making it clear. "If that’s what she decides, then that's how we'll play it."

Yuri, undeterred by my stern front, pours another round of scotch. "And what's this one for?" I ask, eyeing the golden liquid.

"To love," Yuri declares with a flourish, "or at least the prospect of it."

Their laughter fills the room, but the weight of my responsibility—and my hidden hopes—settles deeper in my chest as I sip the scotch.

An hour later, I make my way down to the IT department located in the basement. The high-tech hum of the server room fills the air as I navigate through the rows of flashing lights and humming machinery. At the end of the corridor, I reach Elena’s office.

I knock briefly and her voice, crisp and clear, invites me in. The room is a fortress of technology—dark, windowless, cluttered with high-end gear—an entire wall obscured by monitors displaying streams of data.

Elena, our head of IT and the youngest of my siblings, doesn’t look up as she types away furiously, code filling the screen in front of her.

“Lev,” she finally acknowledges without turning. “Come in, sit down.”

I pull up a chair across from her, taking in the organized chaos of her domain. This place is her battleground, where she wages wars on digital fronts with a cool, commanding presence. She pauses for a moment, fixing me with a look that’s all business.

“What brings you down here?” she asks, her fingers poised above the keyboard. She stops, her nose twitching slightly. “Is that thirty-year-old Glenfiddich I smell?”

I nod. “Guilty as charged. Want a glass? It’s one elevator trip to the C-suite away.”

She shakes her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Thanks, but no. I never drink on the clock, it dulls my edge.”

She swivels her chair to face me fully, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But neither do you, big brother, unless there’s a reason to celebrate.” Her gaze is penetrating, expecting.

I exhale slowly, guilty as charged. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”

“That’s right,” she confirms, her arms crossing over her chest. “And I’m going to keep pestering you until you spill, so you might as well lay it out now.”

I meet her gaze, the gravity of the news weighing on me as I prepare to share. “Alright,” I relent, leaning forward slightly. “Dalia’s pregnant.”

Elena's eyes widen dramatically before she lets out a delighted squeal, springing from her chair to throw her arms around me, her embrace surprisingly strong for her tiny frame.

"Oh my God, Lev! That’s amazing!" she exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement.

She pulls back, her energy palpable as she bombards me with questions. “When’s the baby due? Are you ready to be a dad? How’s Dalia feeling?" Her questions fire off like rounds from a gun.

I raise my hands, trying to slow the barrage. "Hold on, I haven’t got all those answers yet. Truth be told, I feel a little guilty for not letting Dalia be the one to share the news.”

Elena pauses, a thoughtful frown crossing her face. "Wait a minute," she murmurs, "I just tried to call Yuri and Luk, but they were busy in a meeting with you." Her eyes narrow as the pieces fall into place, and a flush of realization colors her cheeks.

Suddenly, she punches my shoulder, her annoyance clear. "You told them before me?"

"Easy, Elena," I say, raising a hand to temper another strike. "I didn't exactly plan to spill the beans to them either—they wrangled it out of me."

I chuckle softly, leaning back in the chair across from her cluttered desk. "Seems like everyone’s got a knack for reading my mind these days," I muse, shaking my head. "Sorry I didn’t tell you first. You know now, and I promise to keep you in the loop. Within reason, of course."

She nods, her earlier flare of annoyance softening into a satisfied smile. "You’re damn right you will," she asserts. Her face brightens into a broad grin, the earlier excitement returning. "And I’m so happy to know I’m going to be an aunt again!"

I smile, appreciating her quick recovery and boundless energy. "There'll be plenty of time for celebrations," I say, my voice turning serious again as I stand to pace a little in the cramped space. "But right now, there are more pressing matters we need to discuss. And I think you know what they are.”

She nods. "I've been deep diving into the bike situation," she says, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she pulls up several windows on her monitors. "I managed to track the VINs through some back door channels, then hacked into the DMV database to pin down the registered owners."

I watch her work, impressed as always by her technical prowess. She turns to me, a slight smile playing at her lips as she simplifies, "I found out who owns those bikes using the evidence you tracked down using some less-than-legal means but I got the names we need. Let’s just say those bikes weren’t exactly bought from a dealership."

She clicks a few times and a photo of a chubby, middle-aged man sporting a big, dopey smile pops up on the screen. "Meet John Willard," Elena announces, "an 'accountant' from Omaha."

I chuckle, piecing it together instantly. "Stolen motorcycles, then?" I confirm, leaning in for a closer look.

"Not exactly," she corrects with a slight shake of her head. "John Willard doesn't actually exist. He's an AI-generated identity, inserted into the DMV database to cover tracks. The owner of this bike is a ghost."

I raise my eyebrows. "An AI fa?ade? That's clever."

She nods, her eyes flickering back to the screen as she continues to dig through data. "Whoever's behind this has more tricks up their sleeve than your average street thug. This isn’t just savvy; it's sophisticated, organized."

"Impressive," I admit, "and troubling. We’re obviously not dealing with amateurs here.”

She nods firmly, her gaze returning to her monitors. "I'll keep digging, see what more I can unearth," she promises, her fingers poised above her keyboard, ready to dive back into the digital trenches.

"Thanks, Elena. I appreciate it.”

She pauses, then points a stern finger at me. "But remember—next time you decide to expand the family, if I'm not the first to know, it'll be more than a punch, brother.”

"Duly noted.”

Changing gears, she asks, "Mind if I take Dalia out for a meal to celebrate?"

"That sounds like a great idea," I agree, pulling out my phone to give her Dalia's number. "I’m sure she'll appreciate that."

We exchange a final nod and I leave her office, the weight of the situation settling back on my shoulders as I make my way through the dimly lit corridors back to my office. The details about the bikes, the artificial identities… everything points to a cunning and formidable adversary.