Chapter 69: Information pt 2
Pyotr raised an eyebrow. "You want them sitting outside our front door?"
"They aren’t hurting anyone," Aaron said softly, picking up his leather gloves from the table. "Kian wants news. He wants to feel like he’s doing something, like he’s still in control of the situation. Why take that away from him? Let him pay those fools to freeze in the mud."
"He’s gathering information," Pyotr noted.
"He’s gathering whatever information I allow him to have," Aaron corrected, his tone cool and smooth as glass. "He won’t storm this place, Pyotr. He doesn’t have the nerve for it. He’s too worried about his clean suits, his company stocks, and his reputation. He’s a businessman who likes to pretend he’s dangerous. Let him sit in London and bleed money."
Aaron pulled his gloves on, smoothing the leather over his knuckles. "If they step onto the road, break their legs. Until then, let them watch."
"Understood," Pyotr said. He swiped to the next page on his tablet. "Moving on. The executive board for Lotus Automobile is pushing for an answer regarding the supply delays in Germany."
Aaron walked toward the door, his long strides steady. "What’s the actual hold-up?"
"Customs at the border," Pyotr replied, walking half a step behind him down the long, carpeted hallway. "A shipment of specialized engine components has been held for thirty-six hours. The official reason is paper errors, but our contact says someone pulled a favor to slow it down."
"Customs doesn’t hold my shipments over paperwork," Aaron said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, dark register. "Find out who made the phone call to the border inspector. Don’t touch the cargo yet. Let them think it’s working."
"And the principal investor?" Pyotr asked. "He’s throwing a fit. Threatening to pull his capital if we don’t clear the line by tomorrow evening."
"Tell him he can pull his money whenever he likes," Aaron said without missing a beat. "And remind him that if he pulls out now, he forfeits his shares at current market value. He won’t do it. He’s greedy."
He stopped at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the quiet main hall below. His life was a massive, moving machine, millions of dollars shifting across borders, political favors owed and collected, legal fronts and underground networks all running under his thumb. He handled it with the same casual ease a man used to tie his shoes.
"Is the car ready?" Aaron asked.
"Downstairs," Pyotr said. "The meeting is set for eight. But before we leave... you have a personal matter to check on."
Aaron didn’t answer. He turned down the west wing corridor instead of heading down the main stairs.
The central sitting room was warm, filled with the soft, amber light of a crackling fireplace. The room smelled faintly of pine wood, old paper, and rich vanilla.
Finn was sprawled out on the heavy velvet rug in front of the hearth, a wireless controller in his hands, completely absorbed in a racing game on the giant television mounted above the mantel. The muffled sounds of screeching tires and engine revs filled the room. Boyar on the other hand was fast asleep on his little bed.
A few feet away, sitting in a deep, cushioned armchair, was Isabella.
She was dressed in a soft, oversized cream sweater, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders.
A thick, heavy book rested on her lap, her thin fingers moving slowly, methodically across the raised dots of the Braille pages. She looked peaceful, tucked away from the cold weather outside.
On the surface, she looked like the picture of quiet innocence, tucked away with a nice story by the fire.
In reality, her cheeks were warm, and her heart was beating a little too fast against her ribs.
The novel she was reading was... explicit.
Unapologetically so. Her fingertips traced over the raised dots, translating the detailed, breathless text into vivid images in her mind: a strong hero pinning the heroine against a heavy wooden door, his large hands gripping her hips, his mouth hot against her neck as he pushed himself deep inside her, taking her with a slow, heavy rhythm that made the woman in the story moan his name.
Isabella swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She knew she shouldn’t be reading this here in the sitting room, but the story had pulled her in, and the sheer heat of the description had sent a prickle of warm, restless desire pooling low in her stomach.
Her mind, betraying her completely, didn’t picture a fictional character.
Instead, as the book described broad shoulders, a heavy chest, and a low, gravelly voice whispering sweet, dirty promises, Isabella’s traitorous brain immediately filled in the blanks with Aaron.
Finn was the first to notice the heavy footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening slightly when he saw Aaron in his full charcoal coat and black gloves.
"Mishka?" Finn paused his game, dropping the controller to his lap. "Are you going somewhere?"
"I have business to take care of in the city," Aaron said, stepping onto the thick rug. "I’ll be back late."
Finn’s eyes lit up with instant opportunity. "Can you bring back that new drone set from the shop near the plaza? The one with the dual cameras? You said maybe last week."
Aaron stopped near the edge of the rug, looking down at the boy with an amused expression. "Did you finish the reading assignment your tutor gave you this morning?"
Finn shifted uncomfortably. "Mostly."
"Mostly isn’t a yes."
"It’s practically a yes!" Finn argued, grinning up at him. "It means I’m almost done!"
"Finish it completely," Aaron said, his voice firm but carrying a trace of warmth. "Show it to your Tutor before nine. If he gives me the green light, the drone will be on your desk tomorrow morning."
Finn groaned, but he was already smiling. "Fine. Deal."
While they spoke, Isabella’s fingers froze on the raised dots of the page. She hadn’t heard Aaron walk into the room, the thick carpet swallowed his footsteps, and the sound of Finn’s game had drowned out the rustle of his coat.