"War." The word comes from Borge, flat and certain. "The families will unite against us. We'll be outnumbered three to one, maybe worse."
I stand abruptly, needing to move, to think. I pace to the window, staring out at the manicured gardens without really seeing them. "Who benefits from this? Who wants the Bratva families to destroy each other?"
"That's what we've been trying to figure out." Dimitri joins me at the window, his reflection visible in the glass beside mine. "This isn't the work of another Bratva family. It's too sophisticated,too well-coordinated. The timing, the evidence planting, the witnesses. Someone knew exactly how to make this look real."
I turn to face him, an idea forming. "Someone outside your world."
His green eyes sharpen. "What are you thinking?"
"You said it yourself. This is too sophisticated for a typical Bratva operation. The families fight each other, yes, but they're direct about it. This is manipulation. Strategy." I move back to the desk, my mind working through the possibilities. "Someone wants you all to tear each other apart. Someone who stands to gain from the chaos."
Alexei leans forward in his chair. "She's right. This has the feel of an outside operation. But who? And why?"
"Real estate developers?" I suggest. "If the Bratva families go to war, property values drop. Businesses close. Someone could buy up half the city for pennies on the dollar."
Dimitri's expression shifts, something like pride flickering across his features. "That's exactly the kind of thinking we need." He turns to his men. "Start pulling records. Any major property transactions in Bratva territory over the past six months. Look for patterns, shell companies, anything that doesn't fit."
The men disperse immediately, pulling out phones and laptops. I watch them work, feeling oddly useful despite my lack of experience in this world. Dimitri's hand finds mine, his fingers threading through mine.
"Thank you," he says quietly, meant only for me.
"For what?"
"For not panicking. For thinking clearly." His thumb brushes across my knuckles. "For being here."
I squeeze his hand. "Where else would I be?"
The hours that follow blur together. Dimitri makes calls while I sit beside him, listening to conversations in rapid Russian. Alexei coordinates with informants across the city. Borge handles security, doubling the guards around the estate and checking on Katya every hour.
I make myself useful where I can. I bring coffee, take notes, and ask questions when something doesn't make sense. In between these errands, I check on Katya who is awake, but a bit withdrawn. Dimitri includes me in every discussion, values my input even when I feel out of my depth. It's strange and empowering all at once.
By afternoon, we have fragments of information but no clear picture. Several shell companies have been buying properties in Bratva-controlled areas. The purchases accelerated after the church attack, as if someone knew chaos was coming.
"Here." One of Dimitri's tech specialists pulls up a spreadsheet on his laptop. "I've been tracking the money. The shell companies all trace back to a holding corporation registered in the Cayman Islands."
Dimitri leans over the man’s shoulder, studying the screen. I move to his other side, trying to follow the complex web of financial transactions.
"Can you trace it further?" Dimitri asks.
"I'm trying, but whoever set this up knew what they were doing. Multiple layers of protection, offshore accounts, dummycorporations." His fingers fly across the keyboard. "But there's always a trail. Always someone who made a mistake."
We wait while he works, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. I find myself holding my breath, watching the screen as the guy navigates through databases and financial records.
"Got something," he says suddenly. "The holding corporation has a registered agent. Required by law, even for offshore entities." He clicks through several more screens. "The agent is a law firm in Miami. High-end, specializes in international clients."
"Can you get their client list?" Alexei asks.
"Not legally." He grins. "But when has that stopped us?"
It takes another hour, but he manages to hack into the law firm's database. The client list is extensive, full of corporations and wealthy individuals seeking privacy for their financial dealings.
But one name stands out.
The young man highlights it, and I watch Dimitri's face go pale. His hand tightens on the back of the chair until his knuckles turn white.
"Pakhan?" Alexei's voice is concerned. "What is it?"
Dimitri doesn't answer immediately. He's staring at the screen, at the name highlighted in yellow, and I see something in his expression I've never seen before.
