Warning From The Past

Damien

I'm deep into the latest reports, skimming through intel, when the door to my office opens without a knock. I glance up, prepared to deliver a cold reminder that I don't like unannounced visitors, when I see her standing there.

Tasha.

She strides in like she owns the place, the same poise and confidence she's always had, her gaze cool and assessing. She looks just as I remember—tall, sharp, impossibly composed.

Her dark hair is swept back, her red lips pulling into a subtle smile that's as dangerous as it is inviting. Tasha's always been beautiful, but underneath that, there's something cold, something that cuts.

I set down the report, keeping my expression impassive as she approaches. My mind races, already weighing her motives.

Tasha isn't the type to make social calls, and she sure as hell doesn't do courtesy visits. Her father, a Bratva head back in Russia, would never let her set foot on my turf without a reason.