Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

A leksei Morozov

Amy Whitaker.

She wasn’t what I expected. Not even in the slightest.

In my experience, job interviews were like quick sketches on a pad of paper—rough, predictable, and lacking any significant detail. But Amy was different. From the very first moment she looked into my eyes, she was like a full painted canvas, intricate, layered, and full of captivating depth. When I asked her a question, she didn’t just give me an answer; she delivered each response like a well-rehearsed line in some verbal fencing match.

Honestly, it was making my cock really fucking hard.

I hadn’t been challenged like this in a long time.

It wasn’t every day that someone like her—a young, freshly polished twenty-two-year-old woman with impressive art-world credentials—met my gaze as if she were my equal.

And I liked that. I liked that a lot.

She wanted this, not just for her résumé or for the break it would give her into the art world, but for the thrill of conquering the job, of working for me.

Of conquering me .

But I’d been here before, more times than she could ever imagine. And I knew how this played out.

She was already mine; she just didn’t know it yet.

When I led her back through the gallery to the exit, I couldn’t help but watch the way she moved, the way her eyes lingered on each piece on display. I could tell she was fighting the urge to ask questions, to know more about me, about my world, but she held back. Maybe it was self-restraint, but I would bet it was something else.

She thought she was in control.

I smirked, knowing it was going to be fascinating to watch her slowly realize that I was the one making the rules, that I was the one in charge, not her.

I moved closer to her, just close enough to notice how she held her breath for a beat longer than usual. I could practically feel her pulse quicken, that tiny, telling beat that said she was more affected by me than she’d ever admit out loud or probably even to herself. It was subtle, but I’d spent years reading the smallest tells in people, learning exactly how to gain the upper hand without ever needing to raise my voice.

It was what helped lead my family to what we were today.

I was part of one of the most powerful Russian Bratva organizations in Boston. My brothers and I had carved out our place here in this city, building an empire based on respect, fear, and a few strategically chosen alliances with other families, like the Murphys and the Kavanaghs, for example.

Maxim, my eldest brother, was our leader. His word was law, and he enforced it with a cold authority that made people stand straighter in his presence.

Sergei was all muscle and precision, the silent protector who watched over us with a fierce loyalty. His job was security and he protected all of us with meticulous precision.

Ivan, our tech genius, was so wrapped in code and algorithms, he barely noticed the world around him. But if there was a system to crack, he was already ten steps ahead in solving it.

My brother Nikolai was a force of nature—towering and intimidating, with a fighter’s build that could cow even the boldest adversaries. Yet beneath his raw strength was a playful sense of humor capable of breaking through even the most guarded of defenses.

I was the youngest, ‘the charmer,’ the one who smoothed out the rough edges of every deal and handled the finer aspects of our business. Art, luxury, connections in all the right places—that was my world. I made sure our reach extended into the elite circles that shaped this city from the inside out.

In a way, Amy stepping into my gallery was the perfect test. She was smart, ambitious, and had just enough confidence to think she could play on equal ground with a man like me.

She had no idea what she’d walked into, no concept of the family she’d be dealing with, or how deeply embedded we were here. To her, I was probably nothing more than an eccentric art dealer with a taste for exclusivity.

And for now, that would be all she needed to know.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t tempted to see how far she could be pushed. The last thing I’d expected when I started interviewing candidates for the position as my assistant was to find someone who could match me step for step, word for word.

But she had.

Amy had that spark—a mix of nerve and restraint that made her a worthy challenge for a man like me. And if there’s one thing I knew about challenges, it’s that they were meant to be conquered.

I glanced over at her, noting the way she kept a neutral expression, as though she hadn’t just felt me step closer. But I saw that flicker of something in her eyes.

Anticipation, curiosity. Maybe even a touch of defiance. Enough to make things very interesting .

Tomorrow, she’d be back here, in my world, answering to me. And as much as she might think she was the one running the show, we both knew that it was just a matter of time before she realized who was in charge.

I looked forward to watching that confidence chip away as she realized exactly who she was dealing with. And maybe, just maybe, she’d surprise me.

I was always open to surprises.