Page 20 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

I whipped around. She stared at my designs with disgust.

"You're an intern. Can't you just listen and do your actual job?"

Damn it, wasn't drawing designs why I came here? What the hell was my actual job? Making technically useless PowerPoints for other people?

"I'm drawing designs. This is my work." I forced down the surge of emotion and handed her the files. "Your work is done."

She frowned and snatched the documents. Flipped through impatiently. Suddenly, her hand stopped. Then the stack slammed into me. Stinging pain flared across my skin. I watched papers scatter on the floor, oxygen sucked from my lungs.

"How did you produce this garbage? If you can't cut it, get the hell out!"

Damn it, I'd had enough!

Chapter Six

Matvey

She bit her soft lip, sketching a ring. An asymmetrical setting cradled a teardrop stone, the lines rough but flowing...

She'd never had formal training, that much was clear. But her designs had something—a spark.

Then again, what the fuck was I even doing?

The last time I'd pulled up surveillance was when the cops said we had a thief in the building. Today, I was watching it just to see Riley.

"Everything's been running smooth at the docks, but there's something that doesn't sit right with me." Anton's voice droned on beside me.

My eyes stayed locked on the screen.

Riley had this pull when she worked. Head down, a few gold strands falling loose by her ear, thick lashes half-hiding those impossibly large eyes.

I knew what those eyes could do. And not just in bed.

I didn't sleep with the same woman twice. But Riley was different. She made me want to lose myself in that soft body again and again. That's why I'd offered the two-montharrangement. Two months would kill any obsession. Riley wouldn't be an exception.

After all, since the divorce from Veronica, I'd had zero interest in women beyond sex.

"Victor's shipment is ready to load." Anton's tone sharpened. "But that old fox is definitely running a game."

I tore my gaze from the monitor. My phone buzzed with photos of the cargo packaging.

"What's the situation?" I scrolled through the images. "Packaging's sloppy as hell. Can't these idiots be more careful?"

I'd known what I was getting into with Victor. His crew always operated like this—amateur hour.

"It's worse than that." Anton pointed at the weight readings, his expression grim. "Total weight is less than half what the contract says."

Less than half? That wasn't a margin of error.

"Victor's people claim they moved a batch recently, so the total's down."

Bullshit. Moving blood diamonds in New York? Either he'd lost his mind, or he was gunning for a ten-year prison stint.

"Did you open the boxes?"

"We did." Anton shook his head. "The count and weight don't match up."

"Check again. Take the crates apart." I tapped my phone screen. "Those boxes probably have false bottoms. Classic smuggling trick."