Or he’s coming to see who the traitor isbeforethe kill.
Regardless of the reason, it means I don’t control what happens next.
I nod to Lev. “Prep the entry hall.”
“You want him down on his knees?”
“No. Not yet. Keep him restrained. Visible. Nothing else.”
Lev disappears toward the room, rolling his shoulders. I head back toward the table we set up by the old meat scale—scattered with paper copies of the ledgers, timelines, offshore trails, names tied to the payments Viktor authorized under ghost accounts.
The evidence is clean.
Meticulous.
It proves what I already know: this isn’t just Viktor pocketing chips from the casino skim.
This is bigger.
This is Timofey’s play.
And it’s wrapped in enough false trails and bribes that if Viktor talks, the whole thing burns.
I spread the pages again.
Put the most damning one on top—the Cayman account tagged underVolkov Holdings LLC, linked directly to a side-branch out of New York. It’s been bouncing funds for thirteen months. A full year of slow siphoning under Igor’s nose.
He’ll see it. Hehasto see it.
This isn’t a theory anymore. It’s not a hunch.
It’s a pattern.
A betrayal.
And I’m ready to hand him the proof on a silver tray.
My phone buzzes again.
Not Igor.
A different number.
I click it open.
Mary: Please be careful.
That’s all.
Just those three words.
My jaw tightens.
She doesn’t know this world. Not really. But somehow, she understands enough to know tonight isn’t routine.
I stare at the text longer than I should.
No one’s ever told me that before.
