Misha nods, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “And if I find him?”
“Then we finish what my father couldn't.”
He studies me a heartbeat longer, reading the warning in my expression that makes his mouth tighten. Then he leaves, the door whispering shut behind him. The storm swallows the silence again. I stare at Sage's image, her feet tucked under her, head bowed over Vega, and reach for the secure line that connects directly to Seattle.
The call clicks once before a rough, familiar voice fills the speaker. “You should be asleep, Luka.”
“I could say the same, Otets.”
There is a pause then paper rustles on his end, the sound of documents being shuffled by hands that don't move as easily as they once did. “You're still in Colorado.”
“I am.”
“I told you to stay clear of that state. Too many ghosts there.” My father's speech is slow, the iron cadence of a man who refuses to let a stroke steal authority even when it's stolen everything else. “What brings you to the mountains?”
“Business,” I reply. “A name from the past found its way back.”
“That name?” His tone hardens, anger seeping through despite the weakness in his body.
“Ray Bellamy.”
When my father speaks again, every word lands heavy and sure. “Ray Bellamy was a thief and a coward. He betrayed me, stole ledgers meant for Moscow, and ran to the Italians for protection. Men died cleaning up his mess. Good men. Loyal men who bled for this family while he counted his silver pieces and laughed from behind enemy lines.”
I've heard pieces of this story before, fragments my father let slip during late nights when the pain from his stroke made him bitter and talkative. But hearing it now, with Sage upstairs and her last name burning holes in my concentration, the history feels different. Personal in ways it never did when it was just another cautionary tale about trust and consequences.
“Is he dead?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
“I'm certain he deserves to be.” Otets exhales, the sound rough and wet, his lungs struggling with the effort of sustained conversation. “We tracked him to Nevada. He was running shipments for the Italians, living in a compound outside Las Vegas like a king. But before we could reach him, he vanished again. No body. No confirmation. Just rumors that he'd moved east or fled to South America or any of a hundred other ghost stories men tell when they want to believe justice exists.”
The bitterness in his voice clings, refusing to let go. My father built an empire with certainty, knowing where every piece stood on the board and controlling their movements with absolute authority. Ray Bellamy's escape represents more than betrayal.It represents chaos, the one thing Isaak Barinov has spent his life eliminating.
Otets voice crackles faintly through the receiver. “Ray Bellamy was never the real mind,” he says. “It was his brother, Thomas. The quiet one. He moved our money through clean companies, and made it look legitimate. When Ray reached too far, Thomas tried to walk away. Men like that always think they can. He died for it.”
“You’re certain?” I ask, straightening, the edge in my voice impossible to hide.
“I buried the men who cleaned the mess,” Otets answers. “Do not let that bloodline cost us twice.”
“His name surfaced again,” I tell him. “Buried in files that should’ve stayed closed.”
“Why dig up old rot?” he asks after a moment, suspicion coloring his tone.
I glance at the screen. Sage shifts on the bed, the movement soft, unaware of the conversation deciding her fate. “A woman. Sage Bellamy. I don’t know if she’s connected but the coincidence is too neat.”
“Coincidence,” he repeats with disdain, the word dripping venom. “Then trust your instincts. Bellamy blood is poison. Don't drink from it.” The warning comes wrapped in exhaustion, in the voice of a man who learned this lesson at a cost I'm only beginning to understand. “You forget sometimes that mercy built nothing. Only fear keeps men loyal.”
“I haven't forgotten.”
“Good.” Another pause, longer this time, filled with the rasp of his breathing and the distant sound of nurses moving through the halls of the estate. “If she is tied to him, end it before it festers. A clean cut heals faster than a wound you keep reopening because you're too soft to use the knife.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. My father has never been a man for goodbyes, even less so since the stroke. I set the phone down and stare at my reflection in the dark screen. The kiss replays again, unwanted and unavoidable. Sage's taste, her heat, the way she fought me, and then melted into me like she couldn't decide whether to run or surrender.
The door opens again. Misha returns without knocking, water beading on his jacket from a trip outside. “We have another problem.”
I don't need details to know I won't like what he has to say. “Speak.”
“One of the locals on our payroll sold information about our shipment. He didn't get far. Albert intercepted the buyer at the gas station near the highway, but the leak exists.”
My pulse slows, the familiar rhythm of violence preparing to meet necessity. “Where is he now?”
