This explains his rush to solidify the Petrov alliance. My marriage isn’t just a political decision—it’s a financial necessity.
“Could it be market fluctuations? The crypto crash hit everyone hard.”
“I accounted for that.” Vito taps a page of calculations. “This is something else. Something... targeted.”
I study the numbers more carefully. Vito is many things—ruthless, calculating, dangerous—but he’s also a financial savant. If he says something’s wrong, it is.
“You think someone’s skimming?” I ask.
“Not skimming. Bleeding.” He leans forward. “And I need to know if it’s coming from our side or theirs.”
The implication hangs between us. If the Petrovs are stealing from joint accounts right before our families unite through marriage...
“You suspect Vadim?” I keep my voice neutral.
“I suspect everyone.” Vito’s eyes are hard. “Except you.”
The unexpected vote of confidence catches me off guard. “Why me?”
“Because you have no reason to sabotage your own future.” His smile is thin. “And because if you were stealing from me, you’d do it so perfectly I’d never notice.”
It’s as close to a compliment as Vito gets.
“I need you to dig,” he continues. “Quietly. Use whatever methods necessary, but ensure that no traces are left. If the Petrovs are behind this, I want irrefutable proof before I confront Vadim.”
“And if it’s someone on our side?”
His expression darkens. “Then God help them.”
The unspoken message is clear: find the traitor so Vito can make an example of them.
“I’ll need complete access to all financial systems,” I say. “Including your private servers.”
He hesitates only briefly before nodding. “You’ll have it. But Rafa...” His voice drops dangerously. “This stays between us. No one else knows—not Marco, nor your friends, nor your new fiancée. Especially not her.”
I maintain a neutral expression despite the flash of guilt. I’ve already discussed financial anomalies with Kira, however obliquely.
“Understood,” I lie.
“Good.” He stands, signaling the end of our meeting. “I expect preliminary findings by the weekend.”
As I turn to leave, he adds casually, “Oh, and Rafa? That kiss tonight was very convincing. Perhaps this arrangement won’t be as difficult as you anticipated.”
I exit without responding, unsure whether I’m more unsettled by the financial discrepancies or by Vito noticing the genuine heat between Kira and me.
“To the man who’s throwing away his freedom!” Luca raises his glass in a mock toast, his smile dazzling in the dim light of Versace, the high-end nightclub he owns in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District.
“Fuck off,” I respond without heat, clinking my tumbler against his anyway.
Our corner booth provides an oasis of relative quiet in the pulsing chaos of the club. Luca has gathered what he calls “the council of war”—our closest circle from childhood. Gio Moretti sits to my left, his massive frame making the spacious booth seem even more cramped. Across from me, Sal Mancini hunches over his drink, perpetually looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Seriously, though,” Luca continues, undeterred, “the Ice Princess? I thought Vito was punishing you, but after seeing her in person... damn, brother.”
Shortly after sharing the news of my marriage, Gio used his security firm to investigate Kira. He didn’t care about my findings. He wanted to find out about her from the streets. This is where he learned that they call her the Ice Princess. Cold, detached, and no-nonsense. She is known to be indifferent.
“She’s not what you think,” I say, immediately regretting engaging with his teasing.
“Oh?” Luca’s eyebrows shoot up with interest. “Do tell. Has the Bratva princess shown you her... hidden assets?”
