My brows lift instinctively, forcing me to settle back down into my chair. Lev rarely prefaces anything. He’s too methodical to deal in half-truths or speculations. The fact that he’s giving me a warning first makes my stomach tighten.
“Go on,” I say, already on edge.
He lets out a soft breath, just audible over the line. “I’ve been hearing things… whispers, nothing solid yet. But I’ve been digging, and a rumor came up.”
“What kind of rumor?”
Another pause like he’s bracing himself for how I might react. “Mikhail may be involved with a woman.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“Word is, she’s pregnant.”
My hand tightens around the phone. The words don’t register immediately. Pregnant? Mikhail? Withsomeone? “You’re sure? That’s not the kind of detail we can afford to be wrong about.”
“No,” he admits. “Not yet. But if it’s true, then Mikhaildoeshave something to lose after all, and that changes everything. But again, none of this is verified yet, so I don’t want you getting your hopes up if it turns out to be nothing.”
I let that sit there for a moment, the implications circling like vultures.
It’s the first time since this all began that there’s been even the faintest crack in Mikhail’s armor. He’s always acted like he had nothing to lose, like every move he made was calculated chaos with no risk to himself. But if there’ssomeone, and if that someone iscarrying his child…
That’s not just a weakness. That’s leverage.
One I can return the favor and use against him. If Mikhail has a woman hidden away, he’s not just playing games anymore. He’s building something to last. Or at the veryleasttryingto. Men like him don’t do that unless they think they’ll win.
Which means he has blinders that can be used against him.
“If any of this is true, he won’t hide her the way he’s hiding Ivy and Leo. He’ll want to keep her close and accessible. Not left in Russia.”
“Agreed,” Lev says.
I rise from my chair once again. “I’ll get Matvey on this. Whatever else you’ve dug up so far, send his way.”
“You got it.”
Followingthe trail is slow work, full of dead ends and inconclusive leads. But then, finally, we land on something solid.
A name.
Emily Kreslova.
There’s nothing remarkable about her at first glance. No known affiliations with the Russian underground, no records with Interpol, no red flags in any government databases. Her background is squeaky clean. The kind of clean that either comes from a boring life or skill at staying off the radar.
She teaches second grade at a modest public school in the city. Her tax records are steady and predictable. No sudden financial spikes that would indicate a hidden payout, a debtpaid, or a bribe taken. Her apartment is registered under her own name.
No suspicious aliases, no shell companies, no reason that a woman like her should be tied to a man like Mikhail Sidrov.
And yet, she is.
The first red flag shows up in the form of grainy CCTV footage taken outside her apartment complex—a black SUV with tinted windows pulls up to the curb at exactly 8:03 p.m. two nights ago. The camera angle doesn’t offer a clear look at the driver, but when the passenger door opens, the figure that steps out is unmistakable. Broad shoulders, distinct gait, that same calculating posture I’ve seen a dozen times.
Mikhail.
A second later, the front door of the building opens and Emily appears. She looks relaxed when she greets him, no hint of fear reflecting in her posture or demeanor. She reaches for him with a familiarity that speaks volumes, then the two of them disappear inside the building together.
That footage alone would be damning, but there’s more—another clip from the same building timestamped just before dawn the following morning of the same man stepping out alone. The SUV is waiting at the curb, Mikhail climbs in, his face half-shadowed by the rising sun before the vehicle drives off.
I sit at the monitor and watch the footage on loop, staring until the screen begins to blur.
