No one speaks, absorbing the weight of what she revealed.
We already know about the Voronin-Baronov partnership. It’s an ugly piece of our history. But Dinara being Aleksandr Voronin’s granddaughter is a bombshell.
Dem leans forward, elbows on his knees. “The men with the Network tattoos who came for her, maybe her parents sent them? Her family found her in hiding and brought her home?”
“By that time my grandparents were wiped out by a rival gang. At least that’s the official word.” Her mouth curls in distaste. “Spider suggested the partnership had soured. And that your father had a hand in their deaths.”
“Fuck,” Matvey breathes, expressing what we’re all thinking. “Soured how?”
“He didn’t get into detail. Maybe a financial disagreement. Either way, he didn’t have proof. It was only a theory.”
A mocking huff spills from my lips. “Wouldn’t put it past him. If he wanted full control of the Network, removing his partners would make sense.”
Dem jerks his chin. “By then the infrastructure existed. The routes, the contacts, the buyers. Once it was up and running, Ruslan wouldn’t need them anymore. He could operate solo, keep all the profits, answer to no one.”
“Anything else?” Miron asks.
She shakes her head. “That’s everything I know. I can send you the files I gathered.”
“Good.” Miron closes the notebook, slides it back into his jacket. “I’m going to Russia. I still have contacts at the FSB who can pull physical files Dinara couldn’t access. The Voronins and their senior men were wiped out, but there will be other witnesses. Household staff who worked for the family. Rivals or street operators who might remember Marina Voronina.”
I stand, shaking his hand. “Keep us updated.”
After Miron leaves, Dem arches a brow mischievously. “Speaking of updates, I have something you’ll want to hear.”
My attention sharpens. “And what would that be?”
“I’ve been watching Abram since the disastrous poker game. Just a hunch. Every Friday night, he visits the Irish mafia’s private sex club in Tribeca.”
I’ve heard of it. Hell, we all have.
“Abram’s a regular and he goes alone, no security.” Dem shrugs. “He has certain kinks, like being tied up. Makes it convenient for anyone who might want to ask him some questions.”
Matvey lets out a low whistle. “Look at that. Tomorrow’s Friday and we’ll know exactly where to find fuck-face.”
“Very convenient,” I agree, an idea forming. “You know, I’ve always had it out for that mudak. He and I are overdue for a conversation.”
A crease appears between Dinara’s brows. “The Ghost tried to kill you two days ago. Shouldn’t you lay low?”
I turn to my brothers. “Give us a minute.”
The door closes, and I pull her onto my lap, needing her close. She tucks herself against my chest, a feeling I’m fast getting addicted to.
“We’ll be careful but I’m not passing up the chance to get Abram alone in a place where he won’t have guards. If he knows anything about your mother, we can’t afford to wait.”
She’s quiet for a beat, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Can I come with you?”
“Hell yeah, I need you there. This plan only works with your help.”
A devious smile forms on her lips. “Can I hurt him?”
“He might like that.” She punches my shoulder playfully. “You can do whatever you want, whatever’s needed,” I assure her.
“Thank you.” She swallows hard. “I know you were young when your father was trafficking and all that, but did you know about it?”
The memory surfaces unwanted, vivid and sickening after all these years.
“I knew,” I admit, shame coating every word. “I knew.”
