Volkov

Chapter 10

(Maksim's Point of View)

The auction was winding down, but my attention had never truly been on the art.

Not entirely, anyway.

From the moment Raven walked through the doors, wearing that stunning black dress that clung to her like a second skin, my focus had been fractured. I hadn't missed the way the room had stilled when she arrived. The way every man's gaze lingered a moment too long, admiration quickly morphing into envy when they realized whose side she would be sitting on.

She had always been beautiful—striking, even—but tonight she was something else entirely.

Untouchable.

Except, of course, she wasn't. Not to me.

The thought brought a rare satisfaction to my otherwise calculated demeanor. Her laughter at my brother Elijah's jokes, the way her hand had rested on my thigh during the auction, the quiet fire in her voice when she insisted she didn't want the painting—every small detail about her had me fighting the urge to close the space between us.

She had no idea the effect she had on me, which was both infuriating and oddly refreshing. Most people treated me with a mix of fear and reverence, but Raven? She was bold. Unapologetic.

And completely unaware of the storm she was walking into just by being here tonight.

"Mr. Volkov."

The voice at my ear was low, urgent. Nikolai, one of my most trusted men.

I didn't need to look at him to know what was coming. His timing was impeccable as always.

I turned my head slightly, keeping my expression neutral as I met his eyes. "Is it handled?"

Nikolai's jaw tightened, and that was answer enough.

"Excuse me," I murmured to the table, rising to my feet. I didn't need to give an explanation. My guests were well-versed in the world we occupied; even the Americans at the table knew when to mind their own business.

Raven glanced up at me, curiosity flickering in her gaze. I leaned down, my hand brushing her shoulder as I whispered in her ear. "Stay here. I'll only be a moment."

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she hesitated, giving a small nod instead. Smart girl.

I straightened and followed Nikolai through the labyrinthine hallways of the venue. The auction house basement was a convenient location—discreet, secure, and accessible only to those who knew how to find it.

"What's the situation?" I asked as we descended the stairs, the echo of our footsteps swallowed by the thick concrete walls.

"It's Armanov's men," Nikolai replied, his voice grim. "They tried to move product through our shipping lanes without clearance. We intercepted them, but they're claiming it was a misunderstanding."

"Was it?"

He snorted. "No. They knew exactly what they were doing. Armanov's testing boundaries again."

I rolled my shoulders, the tension there easing as we approached the steel door at the end of the corridor. I had been expecting something like this. Armanov was predictable in his defiance, always looking for a way to undermine me without openly challenging my authority.

The guard outside the door stepped aside, unlocking it with a swift motion. The room inside was stark and cold, illuminated by a single overhead light. Two men knelt on the floor, their hands bound behind their backs. Blood smeared one's face, his nose clearly broken, while the other's shirt was torn, revealing bruised ribs beneath.

Nikolai's men flanked the room, their presence a silent warning.

I stepped inside, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of fear.

"Mr. Volkov," one of the kneeling men rasped, his accent thick. "This is all a misunderstanding—"

"Enough." My voice was calm, cutting through his excuses like a blade.

He immediately fell silent, his eyes wide as he stared up at me.

I took a moment to survey the room, letting the weight of my presence settle over them. Fear was a tool, and I wielded it with precision.

"Explain," I said finally, my tone icy.

The man with the broken nose shifted, wincing as he tried to straighten. "We didn't mean any disrespect. The shipment—"

"Was intercepted because you failed to follow protocol," I interrupted. "You bypassed our customs checks, ignored our clearance procedures, and attempted to use my shipping lanes without permission. That is not a misunderstanding. That is a direct violation of our agreement with Armanov."

The second man spoke up, his voice trembling. "We were under orders. Armanov said it would be fine—"

"Armanov lied to you," I said sharply, taking a step closer. "And now you are here, facing the consequences of his arrogance."

The silence that followed was deafening.

I turned to Nikolai. "How much of the shipment was seized?"

"Everything," he replied. "Our men secured it before they could move it further."

"Good." I glanced back at the kneeling men, my gaze narrowing. "You will send a message to Armanov. Tell him that his attempts to undermine me will not be tolerated. If he wishes to use my resources, he will follow my rules. If he does not..."

I let the threat hang in the air, unspoken but understood.

The men nodded frantically, desperation etched into their features.

"Get them out of my sight," I ordered, stepping back. "And make sure Armanov receives my message loud and clear."

Nikolai nodded to his men, who hauled the prisoners to their feet and dragged them from the room.

I exhaled slowly, the adrenaline ebbing as the door closed behind them.

"Do you think he'll listen this time?" Nikolai asked, his tone skeptical.

"No," I said simply. "But he will think twice before testing me again."

Nikolai smirked. "And if he doesn't?"

"Then I will remind him why I am not a man to cross."

With that, I turned and left the room, making my way back to the gala. The tension in my shoulders returned as I climbed the stairs, my mind shifting from business to the woman waiting for me at the table.

Raven Tremble.

She was a complication I hadn't anticipated, a distraction I couldn't afford—and yet, I found myself unable to stay away.

When I returned to the table, her gaze met mine immediately. She had been watching for me, her expression a mix of curiosity and something softer.

"Everything okay?" she asked quietly as I sat down beside her.

"Yes," I replied, my hand brushing hers beneath the table. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Her lips quirked into a small smile, but the curiosity in her eyes lingered. She didn't press, though, and for that, I was grateful.

As the evening continued, I found myself drawn to her more than ever, her laughter and sharp wit a balm against the darker corners of my world.

But even as I sat beside her, a part of me knew that my presence in her life would only complicate hers.

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to walk away.