Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

A leksei

Everything was going flawlessly.

The gallery was already alive with activity as the final touches were put in place for tonight’s auction. My men moved through the space with calculated efficiency, making sure every detail was perfect.

I paused for a moment, straightening my shoulders and taking a deep breath. I hadn’t forgotten my brother’s warning about the Orlovs. Most important, I needed to ensure that this event went smoothly. This was more than just another event. It was a statement—a declaration that the Morozovs were still in control, no matter what the Orlovs thought, or worse, were foolish enough to do.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension roll off my shoulders. The night had to go off without a hitch, and I would make damn sure it did. Because in our world, any sign of weakness was an invitation for blood.

I stood near the entrance, my gaze sweeping over the room, cataloging every exit, every corner where an enemy might hide. This was my territory, and I wasn’t going to let those bastards encroach on it.

My gaze flicked to Roman, one of my most trusted men, stationed near the back entrance. He nodded to me, subtle but unmistakable. Our eyes met, and in that brief exchange, he knew exactly what I needed from him tonight: vigilance, discretion, and an unflinching readiness to eliminate any threats, Orlovs or not.

I walked over, my footsteps slow and deliberate on the polished marble floors. Roman straightened up as I approached, his expression expectant, waiting for my instructions.

“Everything in place?” I asked, my voice low but carrying the weight of authority.

“Yes, sir,” Roman replied, his eyes scanning the crowd that was beginning to gather near the main entrance. “All exits are covered, and the guest list has been checked twice. No unexpected names.”

“Good,” I said, my gaze flicking to the elegantly dressed guests who were beginning to trickle in. “I want this night to go off without a hitch. If you see any unfamiliar faces, especially anyone who looks like they don’t belong here, you handle it. Quietly.”

He gave a curt nod. “And the Orlovs?”

“I don’t want any of those bastards getting through the door,” I said coldly. “If they so much as step on our turf, I want to know about it before they even take a breath. Understood?”

“Understood,” Roman confirmed, his expression tightening with iron resolve.

I clapped him on the shoulder before turning away. My men knew what they were doing, and they knew the cost of failure.

I wasn’t about to take any chances tonight. Not with Amy here.

As I walked through the gallery, overseeing a few more details, I spotted her across the room, deep in conversation with one of the curators. She was a vision in that black dress, her confidence and beauty drawing the eyes of everyone around her.

It made something ache in my chest.

With a steadying breath, I motioned to Ivan, my older brother, who was stationed near the bar, dressed in a suit that made him look more like a guest than one of my men. He caught my eye and walked over, adjusting his glasses with that air of casual nonchalance that always belied his lethal efficiency.

“I want extra eyes on the floor tonight,” I said quietly, watching Amy from across the room. “I don’t trust that the Orlovs won’t try something. Make sure the security feeds are secure, and have Sergei check the back entrance again. I’m not taking any chances.”

Ivan nodded, his expression serious. “You think they’ll risk coming here?”

“They’d be stupid to,” I paused, my eyes narrowing as I watched Amy laugh at something the curator said, her head tilting back to reveal the elegant curve of her neck. “Besides,” I added, more to myself than to Ivan, “I’ve got my gallery to protect.”

Ivan’s eyes flicked to Amy, then back to me, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“She’s more than just your assistant, isn’t she?” he guessed, his voice measured, yet somehow still carrying with it a trace of amusement.

“Not your concern,” I said curtly, though the truth of his words gnawed at me.

He was right.

Ivan didn’t press further, only nodding before slipping away to carry out my orders. I turned back to Amy, watching as she moved gracefully through the crowd, her presence lighting up the room.

I was going to make damn sure that nothing touched her.

Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever.

I made my way over to her, my gaze never leaving her as she turned and finally noticed me approaching. The way her eyes lit up, the soft smile that curved her lips—it stirred something inside me that I had no business feeling tonight.

“Everything ready?” I asked as I reached her side, my voice low and steady, though I couldn’t help but let my eyes linger on her a little longer than necessary.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice calm, but I could see the faint blush creeping up her neck.

“Then let’s get the party started,” I murmured, and her eyes flashed with excitement before she walked away to greet a guest.

Roman came up behind me, his voice low. “All exits are secured, boss. Sergei’s got eyes on the back entrance, and Ivan is monitoring the security feeds. If anyone tries to pull something, we’ll be the first to know about it.”

“Good,” I replied, not looking away from the guests mingling around the Degas we’d set up for display. “If the Orlovs are going to make a move, tonight’s going to be it.”

Roman nodded, his expression grim. “I’ve got a few men outside as well. No one’s getting in without us knowing.”

I gave him a curt nod before dismissing him. My focus shifted to Amy, who was handling the early arrivals like a seasoned pro. She moved through the crowd with that quiet grace, her dark hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders, the black dress she wore hugging her curves in all the right places.

It was distracting, infuriating, and completely unavoidable. My palm twitched and I couldn’t get the sight of her over my knee out of my head.

I moved toward her, weaving through the crowd, my presence parting guests like the Red Sea. As I got closer, she turned, her blue-gray eyes catching mine, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded away. There was something about the way she looked at me, defiant yet unsure, like she was daring me to take her right then and there.

“How are things going?” I asked, stopping just close enough that I could catch the subtle scent of her perfume—something warm and heady that sent a rush straight to my gut.

She nodded, glancing over her shoulder at a cluster of guests who had gathered around a painting. “Very well. But… it’s the Degas that’s drawing the most attention,” she said, her voice calm but with that familiar spark in her eyes. “I’ve already seen a few buyers lingering. I think we’ll easily exceed the reserve price.”

I let my gaze follow hers to the painting in question—one of Degas’ lesser-known pieces, a striking study of a ballerina in mid-motion, her body poised with the kind of skill that only years of practice could produce. It was a rare find, something that would draw out the true art connoisseurs from among the crowd.

“Smart of you to highlight it tonight,” I said, leaning in just a little closer, my voice low so that only she could hear. “This crowd responds to the classics. You’ve got them exactly where we want them.”

Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, though she tried to hide it behind a sip of her champagne. I couldn’t help the surge of pride I felt at her words. She was good—better than I’d expected when I first hired her.

“You’ve got a good eye, Amy. I can see why they’re practically eating out of your hand.”

“I learned from the best,” she said, her tone just a shade shy of teasing.

I leaned in closer, lowering my voice even more. “Flattery, baby girl? That’s not like you.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she tilted her head up with a subtle grin, challenging me, teasing me…

What I wouldn’t give to drag her back to my office, bend her over my desk, and sink into her soaking wet little pussy right now.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I grabbed it and glanced down at the screen.

A text from Ivan: Security feed glitching on the east wing cameras. Checking it out.

Damn it. I would bet money that the Orlovs were making their move.

I kept my expression neutral, not letting on that anything was wrong.

“Excuse me,” I murmured to Amy, giving her one last lingering look before turning away.

As I made my way toward the east wing, I caught sight of one of our wait staff, a new hire who seemed a bit too nervous to be serving champagne. I made a mental note to have Roman check him out after this.

Reaching the security room, I found Ivan hunched over the monitors, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “What’s going on?” I asked, my tone clipped. He paused and handed me an earpiece.

“Someone’s trying to loop the feeds,” he muttered, not looking up. “It’s a sloppy job, but they’re trying to cut out the cameras near the back entrance.”

“Lock it down,” I ordered. “And get Sergei on that entrance. If anyone so much as breathes near that door, I want them taken down.”

Ivan nodded, already working on securing the system. I turned on my heel, heading back to the main gallery and slipping the earpiece into place behind my ear. The guests were still blissfully unaware, sipping their champagne and admiring the art, but my pulse was thrumming with a steady, controlled rage.

I was ready.

If the Orlovs thought they could mess with me tonight, they were sorely mistaken.

I spotted Amy again, her brows furrowed as she spoke with a potential buyer. She looked up, our eyes locking across the room, and I gave her the smallest nod of acknowledgement.

I’d handle whatever this was. I’d protect what was mine.

By now, the auction was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of money and ambition. I stood near the side of the room, my arms crossed, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened every time Amy threw a glance my way. But there was no time to get distracted. I had to stay focused, especially with the Orlovs sniffing around, looking for any sign of weakness.

Across the room, a bidding war broke out over the rare Degas, the numbers climbing higher with each raised paddle. Amy’s eyes sparkled, and I felt a swell of pride. She was in her element here—commanding, unflinching.

It was a joy to watch.

Then, just as the auctioneer called for one final bid, the lights flickered once, twice, and then plunged the gallery into darkness.

A murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd. Champagne glasses clinked as guests fumbled, trying to orient themselves. My heart rate kicked up, adrenaline flooding my system.

This was no ordinary power outage.

“Damn it,” I hissed under my breath, already moving. “Roman, Ivan—report!” I barked into the earpiece.

A crackle of static, and then Ivan’s voice came through. “Power’s been cut from the main grid. Backup generator should kick in any second, but… wait?—”

The line went dead.

Shit. I scanned the room, my eyes adjusting quickly to the dim red emergency lights that flickered on. My men were already in motion, moving through the crowd with practiced efficiency, but I couldn’t see Amy.

My gut twisted. I pushed through the throng of confused guests, my eyes searching for that flash of dark hair, the curve of her shoulders, that little black dress. But instead, I saw the telltale flash of movement near the far side of the room—a figure slipping through the shadows, heading for the storage area where the more valuable pieces were kept.

“Sergei, get to the storage room,” I growled into the earpiece, praying the line would hold. “Now.”

A burst of static, then Sergei’s gruff voice: “Already on it.”

I moved faster, my steps quick and silent as I rounded the corner. That’s when I finally spotted my Amy, standing near the display of a Chagall, her eyes wide with confusion as she tried to calm a panicking guest.

“Stay here,” I barked as I reached her, my hand gripping her arm. “Do not move.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but I shot her a look that brooked no disobedience. She nodded reluctantly, her eyes searching mine for a split second before I released her and turned away.

The backup generator finally sputtered to life, bathing the room in a dim, flickering red light.

“Sergei, report!” I snapped into the earpiece, pushing my way through the crowd.

“Two men breached the storage room.” Sergei’s voice came through, breathless. “I got one, but the other slipped out with a piece. Looks like they hit the Rembrandt and a few other expensive pieces.”

Fuck.

Roman appeared at my side, his jaw set. “We’ve locked down the building. No one’s getting in or out until we’ve swept the place.”

“Good,” I growled, my eyes still darting around the room. “I want those pieces recovered, Roman. Whatever it takes.”

As he nodded and slipped away, I spotted Amy again. She was watching me, her eyes wide with something that looked a lot like fear… and maybe a hint of something else. Concern? Trust?

I crossed the room to her in a few quick strides, my hand reaching for hers.

“Are you alright?” I asked, my voice lower now, more controlled.

“Yes, but—” She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the chaos around us. “What’s happening?”

“Stay close to me,” I ordered, leaving no room for debate. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She nodded, her fingers tightening around mine, and for a brief moment, the chaos around us seemed to fade. I could feel the heat of her skin, the rapid pulse in her wrist, and despite everything, I couldn’t help but be struck by how badly I wanted to protect her.

The Orlovs had made their move, but they’d also made a mistake.

Because now, they had my full attention. And I was going to make damn sure they regretted it.

I kept Amy close to me as I led her through the darkened gallery. The emergency lights flickered, casting everything in an ominous red glow that made the usually elegant space feel like a battlefield. I could still hear the guests’ panicked voices echoing from the main hall. But right now, my only concern was keeping Amy safe.

Her hand was in mine, her fingers cold but gripping tightly as we moved through the chaos. I could feel the questions burning in her eyes, but she stayed silent, trusting me to lead. It was good—because if she asked me right now what the hell was going on, I wasn’t sure I could give her an answer that wouldn’t send her running for the door.

We reached a quieter hallway, the noise of the main event fading behind us. I glanced back at her, taking in the way her lips were set in a thin, determined line.

“Stay close to me,” I said, my voice low. “I mean it, baby girl. Don’t leave my side.”

“Believe me, I don’t plan to,” she replied, her eyes wide and shining with confusion. “But what the hell is happening, Aleksei?”

I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t exactly tell her that this wasn’t just about the art, at least not right now. That this was the Orlovs trying to push into my territory, to see how far they could go before my family retaliated. But I also knew I couldn’t lie to her—not entirely.

“It’s… complicated,” I said, keeping my voice steady as I scanned the hallway. “Just trust me. I’ll explain later.”

Amy looked like she wanted to argue, but before she could say anything, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. I shoved her behind me, my heart rate spiking. One of the Orlovs’ men rounded the corner, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw us. He was carrying a painting, a priceless piece that I knew had been in the back room.

“Hey!” Amy shouted, stepping forward, but I held out my arm, stopping her.

“Stay back,” I ordered, my voice harsher than I intended.

The man’s eyes darted between me and Amy, clearly trying to calculate his odds. But he didn’t know who he was dealing with. I took a step forward, narrowing the distance between us.

“Put it down,” I growled, my tone laced with the kind of menace that usually sent men running. But this one was either too stupid or too loyal to the Orlovs to back down.

He reached for something inside his jacket—a weapon, maybe, or a signal for backup. I lunged at him, grabbing his wrist, and slamming him into the wall. The painting clattered to the floor, but I barely noticed it. My focus was on subduing this bastard before he could hurt Amy or anyone else.

Amy gasped, her eyes widening as she watched me grapple with the man. I knew she was seeing a side of me she hadn’t before —one that was far from the polished, charming art dealer I pretended to be. But I couldn’t think about that now.

The man swung at me wildly, but I dodged, my fist connecting with his jaw with a sickening crack. He staggered, blood trickling from his lip, but I wasn’t through with him. I pinned him against the wall, my forearm pressing into his throat.

“Who sent you?” I hissed, my voice a low growl. “Was it Mikhail?”

His eyes widened at the mention of his boss’ name, but he stayed stubbornly silent, his gaze darting toward Amy as if she was his to look at.

That was a mistake.

I slammed him harder against the wall, feeling the bones in his wrist crack under my grip.

Amy’s panicked gasp was the only warning I had before the bastard swung at me. He lunged with a knife, the blade glinting in the faint glowing lights of the emergency lamps. I didn’t know where it had come from, but there was no time to focus on that. I barely had time to pull Amy behind me, my instincts taking over as I blocked his wild strike with my forearm. The sting of metal grazing my skin sent a jolt of pain through me, but I was too fueled by adrenaline to let it slow me down.

“You picked the wrong fucking night,” I snarled, stepping forward and slamming my fist into his jaw with a bone-crunching force. He stumbled back, but he was quicker than he looked, twisting out of my reach, and throwing a savage kick toward my ribs.

I deflected the kick with my elbow, gritting my teeth as the impact reverberated up my arm. This wasn’t just some low-level thug. He was trained—maybe even one of Mikhail’s enforcers. But I’d grown up with four brothers.

I was ready for this.

He came at me again, a flurry of brutal strikes aimed at my head and torso. I dodged, weaving out of the way with the precision of a predator, waiting for my opening. He was strong, but he was sloppy. I could see it in the way his movements lacked discipline, his eyes darting to Amy, looking for an opportunity to grab her.

Not a fucking chance.

I feinted to the left, drawing him in, then countered with a hard uppercut to his stomach. The air left his lungs in a whoosh, and before he could recover, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor. He let out a pained grunt, but I didn’t give him time to react. I drove my knee into his gut, feeling the satisfying crunch of ribs giving way.

Amy stood frozen behind me, her eyes wide with shock. She was seeing a side of me she hadn’t seen before—the side I kept hidden beneath tailored suits and a calm, collected demeanor. But there was no hiding it now.

I was a Morozov, and this was what I did best.

The thug let out a strangled growl and tried to swing at me with his free hand, but I ducked under the blow, my own fist colliding with the side of his head. He staggered, blood spraying from his mouth, and I followed up with a swift kick to the back of his knee. He went down hard, but even then, he didn’t quit.

Desperation made him reckless. He lunged for the knife again, but I was faster, stepping on his wrist with enough force to make him scream.

“You think you can come into my territory?” I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. “You think you can threaten what’s mine?”

He spat blood, his eyes filled with defiance. “This is only the beginning,” he wheezed, a dark grin spreading across his bloody lips.

I didn’t hesitate. My fist collided with the side of his head, hard , knocking him out cold before he could utter another word. His body slumped to the floor, and I stood over him, my chest heaving with adrenaline.

“Jesus Christ, Aleksei…” Amy’s voice was barely more than a whisper behind me.

I turned to her, wiping the blood off my knuckles with the back of my hand. She was staring at me like she didn’t know who I was, her eyes wide with a mix of fear, confusion, and something that looked like reluctant admiration.

“You… you just—” she stammered, her gaze darting between me and the unconscious man at my feet. “Who the hell are you?”

Before I could answer, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Roman and Sergei burst into the room, guns drawn, their eyes sweeping the area before landing on me.

“Boss, you good?” Roman asked, his gaze flicking to Amy, who was still trying to process what she’d just witnessed.

“I’m fine,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “But he’s not,” I added, nudging the unconscious thug with my foot. “Get him out of here. And make sure he remembers exactly who he tried to steal from.”

Roman nodded, signaling to Sergei to secure the man. As they dragged him away, I turned back to Amy, whose hands were shaking slightly, her eyes filled with questions.

I reached for her, my fingers curling around her arm to steady her. “Amy, listen to me,” I said, my voice softer now, but still carrying that edge of command. “You’re safe. But we need to get out of here before more of them show up.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine for answers. “Aleksei, what the hell is going on? Who were those men?”

I took a deep breath. This wasn’t how I wanted her to find out about my criminal side, but there was no going back now.

“I promise I’ll explain everything, but not here. Not now,” I said, my grip tightening on her arm as I guided her toward the back entrance.

“But—” she started to protest, but I silenced her with a look.

“Trust me,” I said, my voice low and urgent. “Please.”

She hesitated, then nodded, her fingers slipping into mine as I pulled her through the hallway. As we moved back into the main hall, I saw that my men had already secured the space. I pulled Amy in close to me and watched as more Morozov men moved into position.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the gallery was ours again.

I watched as two of the Orlovs’ men were dragged past me, their faces bloodied, their eyes filled with fury and defeat. Roman shoved one of them to his knees, his gun pressing into the back of the man’s head.

“What do you want us to do with these?” Roman asked, his tone cold and professional.

“Secure them in the basement,” I said. “I want answers.”

Roman nodded, hauling the prisoners away. The gallery was a mess—broken glass, overturned sculptures, and the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air—but it was nothing we couldn’t fix.

As I turned away, my eyes landed on Amy, standing next to me, watching everything unfold with a look of disbelief. Her eyes were wide, her breaths shallow, like she was trying to make sense of the carnage she’d just witnessed. She was tough, I’d give her that, but this was a world she wasn’t prepared for.

I hadn’t readied her for it and that was on me.

I strode over to her, my steps quick and purposeful. The moment I reached her, I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her close. She stiffened, her eyes darting up to mine.

“Aleksei, I need answers,” she said, her voice a mix of fear and determination.

“Not here,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re leaving.”

She tried to pull away, her eyes blazing with defiance. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on.”

I leaned in close, lowering my voice to a whisper only she could hear. “You’ve seen enough to know this isn’t just about art. You’re a smart girl. I know you’ve probably heard the rumors about me, and we’ll talk about them,” I said softly, my fingers tightening on her waist. “But for now, you’re coming with me because it’s not safe for you to be alone.”

“But—” she began, but I cut her off, my lips brushing her ear.

“It’s not up to you, Amy,” I murmured, my voice dark and commanding. “It’s up to Daddy. And Daddy’s not letting you out of his sight tonight.”

Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, to fight me on this. But then, as if something inside her gave way, she nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor.

“Fine,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

“Good girl,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple before turning and leading her through the chaos of the gallery.