10 Days to Ruin (Ozerov Bratva Book 1)
10 Days to Ruin: Chapter 11

Date the girl.

What a fucking joke.

Leander wants me to wine and dine his spoiled little princess of a daughter for ten days straight. The old man is losing his edge.

My mood is black. But one of the perks of having CEO on your business cards is that I can clear an entire floor of the Ozerov Industries skyscraper for myself. No buzzing worker bees here to distract me. Just silence.

I prefer it that way. Silence allows me to sift through the gravel of my thoughts and dig out the gold. Both in this company and in the darker, bloodier business that lies beneath it, I’m the brains of the operation. If I’m not sharp as CEO, stocks plummet. If my head’s not in the game as pakhan…

The costs get much, much higher.

So I can’t afford to split my focus. Not now, not ever. That’s a luxury for my employees downstairs, the ones who have no clue what kind of organization they’re truly feeding. I, on the other hand, have to keep my eye on the ball at all times. That means no distractions.

And I won’t let Ariel become a distraction.

Ten days. Fuck that. For a job like this, I don’t need ten days. I don’t even need five.

I just need one.

“Feliks,” I growl into the intercom, “I want you to send something. ASAP.”

“Sure thing,” Feliks replies. “Name it.”

“Flowers.”

He wolf-whistles. “Sounds serious. Any preferences for the arrangement?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Romantic stuff, then.”

I shake my head. Romance isn’t what I’m after here—just the illusion of it. Grand gestures will get me halfway there. As for the other half…

I’ll just pick up where I left off in that bathroom.

“Oh, and boss?” Feliks’s voice pops back on the intercom.

“Yes?”

“They’re here.”

I don’t glance up from my desk. “Send them in.”

Seconds later, two figures enter: one nervous, the other calm. Feliks brings up the rear, preventing any escapes.

Not that they’d ever get that far.

“Brian, Peter. Sit.”

The two men obey.

Feliks shuts the door and stations himself in front of it, arms folded across his chest.

“Gentlemen.” I pick up the folder on top of my keyboard. “I believe you know this man.”

Inside the folder is a single picture. I push it forward, letting the two employees take a good, hard look.

“Well?” I snap. “Speak.”

“I don’t know him, sir,” Peter answers confidently, if quickly.

“I-I don’t, either,” Brian stammers. “Never seen him.”

Pathetic. If this is the caliber of spies my rivals send me, it’s no wonder they haven’t managed to touch me yet. “He’s Prabhat Gupta, our chief competitor. His company just launched a drug we’ve been developing for the past five years. He beat us to the market by six months.” I push two small pink pills in front of them. “This is ours. This is theirs.”

They both lean over the pills. Peter takes one in hand, holds it up to the light. Brian’s eyes, however, don’t seem to know where to settle. “That’s… terrible. They must have one hell of an R&D depart⁠—”

“It’s the same.”

Brian blinks. “S-Sorry?”

“I said it’s the same. As in, exactly the same.”

I crush one pill, then the other, and scatter the dust on my desktop. I do it bare-handed, if only to satisfy my slight flair for dramatics. Peter’s brow rises, while Brian’s gaze darts around wildly, at the pills, at the picture, at me.

Sometimes, it’s almost too easy.

“And,” I add, “the leak was traced back to your shared office.”

Instant pandemonium. Peter’s eyes just about fall out of his head. Brian, for his part, does a good job of looking shocked as well. He sags in his chair. “Th-that’s impossible!” Brian splutters. “I swear, we didn’t⁠—”

“Yes, you did. One of you, at least. And now, I’m going to give the culprit a choice.” I steeple my fingers and stare into their eyes. “Confess. If you do, I might show mercy. If you don’t…”

There’s no need to finish that sentence.

“You have ten seconds,” I conclude. “Starting now.”

I count them out by drumming my fingers on the desk: Nine. Eight. Seven…

“M-Mr. Ozerov, there must’ve been a mistake⁠—”

Six, five, four… Feliks starts humming the Jeopardy theme from the doorway. He’s got a sick sense of humor.

“I-I’m telling you the truth!”

Three… Two…

“Please you have to…!”

One.

“Time’s up.” I rise. “You’re both fired. Feliks⁠—”

“Okay, okay! It was me!”

I pause and look at the man who spoke. “So you admit it, Brian?”

“I-I do.” He breathes in deeply, mustache trembling with every panicked inhale. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ozerov. I was in trouble. M-My debts, you see…”

I do see. I have a background check done on all my potential employees. His file is simple. Brian Fenner: deadbeat dad, prostitute enjoyer, and occasional Saturday night gambler. I didn’t hire him out of ignorance and it sure as fuck wasn’t out of pity—I thought his sins would be good blackmail and that his debts would make a strong incentive to put in overtime. I didn’t think he’d be this stupid.

“Please don’t fire me,” he pleads. “I have kids, I have a family…”

“And your whores,” I cut in as I open one of my desk drawers. “How will they ever cope without you?”

He goes white as a sheet. “M-Mr. Ozerov, please. I really need this⁠—”

“I won’t fire you.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mr.—”

BANG.

Brian’s body wobbles in place for a moment. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he falls over, staining the carpet red.

Peter doesn’t move. His eyes follow the fall, the calm on his face giving way to mute horror.

Must be his first dead body.

“Got something to say?” I ask as I place the gun back in the drawer it came from.

He shakes his head so hard it’s a miracle the damn thing doesn’t fly off his neck. “No, sir. Nothing.”

“Good. Then get lost.”

He springs up from the chair and makes a beeline for the elevator, jamming his finger into the button like mad. It’ll take a while to reach us up here on the top floor—Feliks always gets a kick out of sending it back to the lobby. His way of hazing guests.

Once Peter is in front of the elevator bank, shaking so hard he needs the wall as a crutch to stay upright, Feliks leans into my ear. “Was that wise or was it reckless?”

“Neither.” I shrug. “No one gives a shit about him. He won’t be missed.”

“You could have fired him.”

“I fired something.”

A small smirk quirks his lips. I’m aware Feliks doesn’t always approve of my methods, but he understands them. This man betrayed us. He turned mole against us. Bratva or not, that’s unacceptable.

“I’ll call the cleanup crew,” he concludes.

“See that you do.” He’s walking away when I add, “Oh, and Feliks?”

“Yes?”

“No witnesses.”

He gets what I’m saying immediately. With a nod, he turns and saunters up to the elevator bank, whistling. The second the doors ping open, Peter’s body hits the floor.

I grab my jacket and follow. “And they say I’m dramatic.”

Feliks spreads his hands wide in an aw-shucks gesture, a pistol with silencer clutched in his palm. “What can I say? I’m theatrical at heart.”

I step over Peter’s corpse. “Make up a trail. Lottery win, job offer overseas, romantic getaway—I don’t care. Just make them disappear.”

“Understood, pakhan.”

“And make me a reservation for tonight.”

“Sure. The usual place?”

“Yes.” I stride into the elevator. “But make it for two.”

Realization blooms in his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs wickedly. “Should I wait up to drive you home?”

“I really don’t give a fuck, Feliks.”

I press the ground floor button. Feliks’s shit-eating grin is the last thing I see before the doors close—but for once, he isn’t wrong. I won’t need a ride back tonight.

Ariel and I will be otherwise occupied.