“Yes,” Mikhail says grimly. “And whoever it is…they’re close.”
My jaw tightens as I process Mikhail’s words. A rat inside my house? No. That doesn’t sit right.
“It’s not one of ours,” I say finally, my tone sharp. “I trust every man under this roof with my life.”
Mikhail frowns. “Lev—”
“No,” I cut him off. “This isn’t coming from inside. This is Viktor Markovic.”
His brow furrows. “Viktor?”
I nod once, conviction hardening in my chest. “He’s been keeping tabs on me. On Sasha. That meeting at the dock wasn’t business—it was bait. A distraction. He wanted me out of the house so they could make a move.”
Mikhail’s expression darkens. “You think he’s feeding intel to the Greeks?”
“I don’t think,” I say quietly. “I know.”
He frowns.
“Call Niko and Kaz,” I tell him, my voice sharp with authority. “Tell them to meet me as soon as they can. It’s urgent.”
Mikhail’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Understood.”
“Now,” I add, and the edge in my tone leaves no room for hesitation.
He turns on his heel immediately, already pulling out his phone as he hurries down the hall.
I stand there for a second, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to rein in the storm building inside me. If what Roman said is true—and if Mikhail’s right about a leak—then this isn’t just about Sasha anymore. It’s war.
Still standing in the hall, I pull out my phone and call Roman. He picks up on the second ring.
“Lev,” he says, voice low. “What’s going on?”
“I need to see you. Urgently,” I say, pacing across the room. “Mikhail’s calling Niko and Kaz too.
“Is this about the Greeks?” he asks.
“Yeah. I have an idea. You told me not to be reckless, so I want to run it by you and the others.”
There’s a pause. I can almost hear him exhale through his nose. “I was on my way to the airport,” he says. “But screw it. I’ll turn around. Give me twenty.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly, meaning it. “I owe you.”
He chuckles dryly. “You can owe me when this shitstorm’s over.”
The line clicks dead. I slide my phone back into my pocket and stare at the wall, jaw tightening. Twenty minutes. That’s all the time I have to figure out how to keep Sasha safe if everything goes to hell.
Who am I kidding? I already know everything I want to do. I just have to convince my brothers it’s a great idea.
I start to go back into the room, but my hand freezes on the doorknob. I can’t face Sasha right now. Not when the guilt is sitting this heavy in my chest. I told her I’d protect her, that she’d never have to be afraid again, and yet every threat feels like it’s inching closer. Every breath I take feels like I’m failing her a little more.
Fear crawls up my throat, sharp and relentless. I turn away before it shows on my face and make my way to the study instead.
The air in there feels colder. Still. I walk to the window and rest my hands on the frame, staring out at the quiet estate. The guards are posted where they should be, the sun’s creeping higher, and from a distance, everything looks peaceful. But I can feel the storm coming.
I can’t remember the last time I felt raw fear. Not the polite edge that comes with business risks, not the careful caution that keeps men alive, real, animal fear. Even as a kid, I wasn’t the sort to tremble. I was the pretty one: cheekbones, easy smile, a face that disarmed before fists ever needed to. People thought they could push me around because I looked like I’d rather wear silk than swing a knife.
They learned fast. I learned to let them come at me, to stand there and let the first shove land. Let them taste confidence. Let them underestimate how far I would go. Those boys who tried to embarrass Lev Rusnak walked away with bones rearranged, or they didn’t walk away at all. I made sure of that. It was never pride. It was policy. A lesson. A warning.
