My chest aches with a feeling too big to name. “Why would you do that?”
His mouth curves, sad and tender. “Because you’re my wife. And because you deserve someone in your corner.”
My heart stumbles. When he says things like that, I start believing in a future I shouldn’t.
He kisses my forehead and stands, pulling me up with him.
“Come on, there’s someone you need to meet.”
CHAPTER
FORTY
KIRILL
My study feels crowdedwith five people, though maybe it’s less about the space and more about the weight of our discussion.
Dinara sits across from my desk, back straight, wearing one of my hoodies over leggings, hair pulled back and glasses perched on her nose.
Matvey’s by the window with coffee instead of whiskey thanks to the early hour. Dem’s across from him, scrolling on his phone. Miron stands by the bookshelf, hands clasped behind his back, the same quiet intensity as always.
“Dinara, this is Miron,” I say. “Best investigator I have. He’s the reason I found you at Spider’s apartment that night.”
Her lips purse. “So you’re the one who crashed my party. I’ll have to send you a thank-you card.”
Amusement flickers in Miron’s eyes. “Just doing my job, Mrs. Baronova.”
She flushes at the use of her new surname.
“He’s going to lead the search for your mother,” I continue. “He has contacts all over Russia, including the government.But he needs to know everything. Every detail, no matter how small.”
Dinara nods, measuring the man we’re trusting with something so important. In his mid-forties with a solid build and graying temples, he has a way of receding into the background even when he’s the most dangerous person in the room.
Miron pulls a notebook from his jacket, clicks a pen. “What was your mother’s name?”
Her hands tighten in her lap. “My whole life, I knew my mother as Sonya Potapova. She rarely mentioned her family. Told us her wealthy parents disowned her.”
The room goes still, all attention on her. This can’t be easy, recounting every painful detail.
“Recently, I remembered something. It came to me in a dream. The men with the Kupola Network tattoos who took her. They called her Marina Voronina.”
There’s a beat as everyone processes that name.
Dem runs a hand through his hair. “Voronina. I’ve heard that name before.”
Miron looks up from the paper. “Daughter of Aleksandr Voronin, the St. Petersburg pakhan?”
“That’s right.” Her voice drops. “Officially, Marina died when she was nineteen. I found a picture of her in old FSB files. The pakhan’s daughter was my mother. There’s no question.”
Matvey whistles low under his breath. “You think she faked her own death?”
“Yes. Either on her own or with her family’s help, I don’t know, but Marina Voronina is dead, at least on paper.” Dinara shakes her head. “I pulled everything I could from archives and government databases but came up with almost nothing.”
Miron leans forward, focused on her. “What did Spider tell you?”
She hesitates, biting her lower lip. Reluctance tightens her expression. This next part won’t land well.
“Spider said the Voronins would never traffic their own daughter. The Voronins and Baronovs were partners in the Kupola Network.” She meets my stare, apologetic. “My grandfather supplied women from Russia. Your father handled distribution here. They built it together.”
