I meet his eyes. “Think ‘bleach won’t help’ dirty.”
His mouth flattens.
I flip to the next page.
Financial records. Bank transfers. Shell companies.
“She’s connected to at least three organized crime syndicates. Russian, primarily. But she’s not loyal. She’s a freelancer. Moves money for whoever pays.”
“Mercenary bitch,” Callum says. “I like it.”
“You would,” Orion says.
I ignore them both.
“She’s been investigated twice. Never charged. She’s careful. Methodical. Leaves no paper trail. No witnesses willing to talk.”
“Why not?” Juliet asks. Her voice is too soft.
“Because the last person who testified against her ended up in the river,” I say flatly. “Accidental drowning, according to the report. Except he had zip ties on his wrists and concrete blocks tied to his ankles.”
Callum whistles. “Bold of the river to get into DIY.”
Orion’s jaw tightens. “And she’s threatening Vitaly.”
“Not threatening,” I correct. “Blackmailing. Noah confirmed. She sponsored his immigration. Fraudulently. If he doesn’t cooperate, she reports him. He loses the bakery. Gets deported. Maybe worse.”
“What does she want?” Callum asks.
I flip to the next page.
A ledger. Handwritten. Russian script mixed with numbers.
“She wants him to run money through the bakery. Cash deposits. Fake receipts. It’s a small operation, but it’s clean. Unassuming. No one suspects the sweet Russian baker.”
Juliet’s fingers tap against her mug.
Soft. Rhythmic.
Dangerous.
“What else?” she asks.
I hesitate.
Because this part?
This part’s going to set her off.
You can almost hear the little murder music start up behind her eyes.
“She’s escalating,” I say carefully. “Noah witnessed a physical altercation. She grabbed Vitaly. Threatened him. Threatened Noah.”
Orion’s chair scrapes back. “She fucking what?”
Noah flinches. “I’m fine. She just…”
Juliet turns to Noah. Her hand still in his. Her voice soft. Gentle. “Tell us what you saw, baby.”
