I didn’t even know what I was looking for at first. I just needed to find out something that would tell me a little more about the auction. I wanted proof that I hadn’t imagined thetension, the patterns, and the unease that had settled over me since I arrived in this city.
As I browsed through the files Avgust had already shown me earlier, my gaze went to the unopened attachment in Avgust’s inbox. The one from Timofey, which he had closed as soon as it had arrived. My pulse picked up. I hesitated only for a second before opening it. The document was dense with redacted names, operations outlined, and territory maps layered with notes and timestamps. I slipped at first, too tired and unfocused… until my breath caught.
ROMANOV.
I stared at my family name, my mind scrambling to place it in the middle of this dark and jaded world. Romanov was a rather common Russian name. It was ancient and heavy with history. This probably meant nothing. I scrolled below, my stomach dropping even further. The document outlined details of a family of five siblings of Russian origin, all linked to a recent raid in Miami.
I scrolled further and noticed the chart was divided into columns of approximate ages, builds, hair color, and eye color. I read everything slowly, my skin prickling. One of the men was labelled as having dark hair and sharp green eyes, while another was taller, broader, and had lighter brown hair and a scar near his jaw. Another had fair hair, pale eyes, and was the tallest amongst all. As I read further, the images of each of my brothers shaped before my eyes.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no. It can’t be.”
This had to be a coincidence.
I told myself that again as I read further. The document outlined suspected criminal ties and whispers of alliances forming that were strategic and had methodical plans of takingcontrol of the key operations in the city of Miami. It explicitly mentioned how the family had only come to Miami from Russia rather recently and was still staying in the shadows.
But it couldn’t be them. Right?
My brothers were businessmen. Hoteliers. Restaurateurs. They were here to expand their hotel business in America. They were nothing but ambitious young men, but not this. Not criminals. Not Bratva. Not flesh auctions, territory wars, and power plays that ended in bloodshed. But the descriptions kept matching a little too well. My hands went cold as I wondered if this might have been their world all along. Even back in Russia. It was true I had noticed the closed doors, the pistols they carried, the men who came in and out of our house, and the sudden disappearances of one of my brothers from time to time. None of it was normal, but I had always dismissed it. Never reading too much into it.
This information, the last name and physical details, hadn’t come up in front of Avgust. I knew that. He hadn’t said it. He hadn’t reacted. Whatever Timofey had sent him, he hadn’t opened it with me there. He didn’t know. Not yet. I closed the document with shaking fingers and marked the email as unread once again, while staring at the quiet room, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
All of it made sense now.
The kidnapping. The revenge. The auction. The hatred for my brothers. Everything.
“Ilana?” I was still staring into space when he called me out, his voice low and concerned.
I flinched, my heart jumping into my throat. I took a couple of seconds to steady myself before turning to look at Avgust as he stood up from the bed, his gaze on me.
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied, too quickly.
His gaze moved from my face to the laptop. Then back to me.
“Come back,” he said simply. “It’s late.”
Something about the way he worded it, not as a command or a demand, but a request, shifted something inside me. This man, who had never been soft to probably anyone in his life, was being soft to me. I closed the laptop with deliberate calm, forcing my hands not to shake.
“Okay.”
He didn’t ask questions or press me for anything further. I went back towards him and curled into his chest, resting my cheek over his beating heart, listening to its slow and steady rhythm. His hand slid into my hair, fingers combing through it slowly. His touch felt like everything I needed in the moment. A flash of calm after the storm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
I swallowed.
“Nothing.” I lied.
The word tasted bitter on my tongue.
He didn’t believe me. I felt it in the slight tightening of his arm, but he didn’t push. He only brought me closer, his body warm and solid against mine.
“Sleep,” he murmured. “We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
The word echoed uncomfortably.
