And against every shard of discipline I’ve honed over the years, my body responds to it—heat tightening low, hunger pressing at the seams of my restraint. I don’t want it, I don’t allow it, yet it claws through anyway.
It catches me off guard. For a split second, I just watch her, my brain recalibrating. I’d expected tears. Panic. The desperate kind of breakdown that would make her spit out Anton’s name and tie the two of them neatly together. The interrogation would have been simple then—both of them packaged as guilty, one confession stacking on the other.
Instead, she laughs in my face and wishes him dead.
It irritates me more than it should. Because her reaction means one of two things: Either she’s telling the truth…or she’s practiced enough to lie with the kind of bold confidence most people can’t fake under this kind of pressure.
My jaw tightens. I don’t like either option.
She leans back in her chair, eyes burning into mine like she’s the one with power here, not the one chained at the wrists. That fire—it unsettles me, tempts me.
“Let me go. I’m useless to you,” she says. “I don’t know anything.”
Her voice doesn’t tremble. Her eyes don’t flinch. She doesn’t try to soften me, doesn’t reach for sympathy, doesn’t even seem to care that her freedom is hanging by a thread. She just says it plain, like the truth doesn’t need dressing.
And that’s the problem.
Because my gut—the one I’ve trained for years, the one that’s saved my life more times than I can count—tightens in recognition. She’s not lying. I hate that I know it, hate that the certainty settles into my bones like an unwanted truth.
She’s innocent.
And that pisses me off more than anything else.
Because if she’s innocent, Anton is smarter than I thought—covering his tracks with her name, dragging her into his mess as a shield.
And if she’s innocent…then I’ve wasted time. Time I don’t have.
Before I can say anything, Demyan steps back into the interrogation room.
“Boss,” he says carefully. “They are here.”
I don’t need names. I know who he’s talking about.
I hold Noelle’s stare a moment longer, then I push back from the table, smooth and controlled, and walk out without another word.
By the time I reach my office, Kaz and Adrian are already waiting, both of them standing like they own the place, easy confidence wrapped around sharp edges.
Kaz doesn’t waste time. “We’ve been through the files, Niko. It’s Anton. Clear as day. The transfers, the fake accounts, the shell businesses—he’s sloppy. Thought he could hide in plain sight.”
Adrian drops a folder onto my desk. Evidence. Undeniable. His smirk is a quiet victory. “Your instincts were right about him. He’s bleeding guilty, and he knows it.”
Then he tilts his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about the girl? Noelle. She’s in Chicago, isn’t she? Find her.”
“I already did,” I say flatly. “She claims to be in the dark, that Anton handled her accounts. I read her file—nothing there but the fact she was his ex. She said she hopes he rots in hell.”
Adrian only shrugs, like it’s a coin toss. “It’s possible he used her accounts to shield himself. Happens more than you’d think. But we have to be sure that’s all it is. Never underestimate a woman, Niko. Some of them play innocent better than men bleed.”
I don’t answer.
Kaz studies me, head tilted, his stare sharper than usual. “So? What does your gut say?”
I don’t answer him directly. Instead, I take the file from Demyan and slide it across the desk toward them. “According to this, she passed Level One Bratva Clearance Training—in the medical field. She’s not just some civilian who got tangled up with Anton. She’s ours. Registered under the Volkov-Rusnak system.”
Adrian’s brows lift. Kaz’s jaw tightens. They both understand immediately.
I lean back, voice flat. “Which means she falls under our protection. Touch her, drag her in, throw her name into this mess, and we’re not just dealing with Anton’s fallout anymore. We’d be breaking our own code. Undermining the very system that keeps order inside the Bratva.”
Adrian exhales hard, drumming his fingers on the desk. “But you also can’t just let her walk. You’re not a hundred percent sure she’s innocent. That’s a tight spot.”
