At first, she resisted the idea of staying here. Rowan doesn’t enjoy stepping away from responsibility. She believes problems should be confronted directly rather than left to fester. But exhaustion eventually won the argument.
The first trimester is taking more energy from her than she expected. Even when she denies it, I see the way fatigue creeps into her shoulders by afternoon, and the way she moves more slowly when she believes no one is watching. The doctorconfirmed what her body already knew. Rest matters now for her and for our child she carries.
So, Rowan remains here for the time being, working occasionally from the study when she feels well enough, sleeping when her body demands it. The estate is quiet enough that she can recover without interruption, which leaves me free to deal with the rest.
Mikel taps the tablet with his thumb. “Three shipments connected to him so far,” he remarks, his tone calm, the sort that forms when violence turns into a logistical problem instead of chaos. “Two weapons runs and one equipment convoy heading south.”
I glance up from the map. “Origin?”
“Raleigh for one. Charleston for the other two.”
Polina moves one of the financial columns onto the main monitor. “Most of the payments moved through layered companies,” she notes. “Automotive imports. Logistics storage. Some real estate purchases that appear legitimate on paper.”
The numbers arrange themselves into patterns the longer I watch them. Ivan built a decent system. Nothing exceptional, but efficient enough to move equipment and money without attracting attention immediately. Men like him rely on speed and intimidation rather than subtlety. They move quickly and assume no one will bother tracing the trail after the job is finished. They forget the paper trail.
My gaze pauses on a company name repeating across several transaction records.Volkov Holdings.The name appears again two lines later, then again beneath another transfer routed through a separate shell account.
“Open that file,” I instruct.
Polina’s fingers move across the keyboard. The monitor changes to a corporate summary. Several businesses appear on screen: luxury auto dealerships, shipping storage facilities, and a vehicle warehouse outside the city where imported cars are processed before resale.
The same name sits beside every property.Sergei Volkov.
Mikel pushes away from the counter and walks toward the table. “You think he financed the kidnapping?” he asks.
“He moved the money.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I reply calmly. “But it connects him.”
Silence lingers in the room while we consider the structure of Ivan’s network. Outside, snow begins falling again, thin white streaks sliding past the windows. A moment later, the door opens quietly behind us. One of the guards steps inside first, guiding Lila into the room.
She pauses just inside the doorway, one hand resting briefly against the frame before moving farther in. Rowan’s sweater hangs loosely around her shoulders, the sleeves pushed slightly back at her wrists. The slow, careful way she holds herself makes the injury obvious even before the faint stiffness in her posture confirms it. The bullet missed anything vital, but recovery still demands patience.
Her eyes move across the room with caution before focusing on the monitors along the far wall.
“What are you working on?” she asks.
There’s more strength in her voice than there was a week ago, though the effort behind it is still noticeable.
I gesture toward the screen. “Ivan’s financial structure.”
She takes a step closer and studies the monitor in silence. Then something in her expression tightens.
“Volkov,” she murmurs.
Polina turns toward her. “You know the name?”
Lila nods slowly. “Ivan mentioned him once.”
My attention locks onto her immediately. “When?”
“Before Rowan and I were taken.” She folds her arms loosely while she searches through the memory. “I heard the name during dinner one night,” she continues quietly. “Ivan had been drinking and complained about having to meet someone afterward.”
“Who?” Mikel asks.
“Volkov.”
