Mikhail shakes his head once. “No. It’s about the Greeks. And Sasha.”
That name stops me cold. The dull ache in my chest sharpens. “Show me.”
But before he can move, the sharp screech of tires rips through the air.
We both turn toward the gates. A black jeep swerves to a stop, gravel spraying across the driveway. The driver’s door swings open, and Roman climbs out. He frowns when he sees us.
“Is everything okay?”
My mind takes me back to what Mikhail just told me. Whatever this is, it’s not the kind of conversation that happens in a driveway.
“Let’s go to my study,” I say, my voice brittle.
Both men follow without a word. Inside, I lock the door, pull the drapes, and motion for them to sit. Mikhail sets his laptop on the desk, and Roman stays standing, arms folded, the tension rolling off him in waves.
“Talk,” I say.
Mikhail exhales, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the keyboard. “You need to see this, Lev. I dug deeper into Sasha’s family background. Her mother’s name—Callista Marino—rang bells in the Petropoulos archives.”
I frown, moving closer. “Go on.”
He clicks something, and a file appears on the screen—old photos, reports, names I recognize from the Greek underworld. “Both Callista and her husband, Vassilis, worked for the Petropoulos and Markovic families about two decades ago. They were couriers—handled document and cash transfers between branches in Athens, Santorini, and Mykonos. Trusted ones, too.”
I lean forward, my jaw tightening. “And?”
Mikhail’s voice drops. “Until Vassilis disappeared.”
The air in the room changes.
Roman straightens, his brow furrowing. “Disappeared how?”
“Stole something,” Mikhail says. “A shipment of ledgers belonging to the Petropoulos family. Documents worth millions in blackmail leverage—names, accounts, deals, everything. He vanished with it. And not long after, Callista fled Greece. Shetook their daughter and went to America, changed her identity, and cut ties with everyone she knew.”
I stare at the screen, but my mind is already miles ahead, piecing it together. Sasha told me they moved to America after her father died. Maybe her mother lied about her father’s death. But old debts must always be repaid.
My mind drifts back to the present. The Greeks wanting Sasha. Viktor’s eyes at the reception. The sudden interest after all these years.
It’s not about ransom.
It’s about revenge. Or retrieval.
“So they think Sasha has the ledgers,” Roman mutters, reading my expression.
“Or that her mother left them to her,” I say, my voice low. “Either way…she’s the last living Marino. Which makes her their only lead.”
Silence fills the room. The hum of the laptop fan, the faint tick of the clock, the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Mikhail breaks it. “If they believe she knows something—anything—they won’t stop, Lev. Not until they get it.”
I close my eyes for half a second, fighting the storm building inside me.
They want her because of a debt she didn’t even know existed.
Because of the sins her parents committed before she was old enough to speak.
When I look up, my decision is already made. “Double the guards. I don’t care what it costs. No one gets near her.”
Roman nods, his face grim. “What about Viktor?”
