“Let me guess.” I folded my arms. “You fixed it?”
“Whoever tried to wipe it was a fucking amateur.”
Blake hit the spacebar, and a grainy video filled the monitor. Rows of shipping containers stretched endlessly beneath floodlights as a man in a tailored suit moved into view, two bodyguards flanking him.
The man in the suit was clearly Alexei Volkov, but the others weren’t easily discernible. Still, something about them felt familiar, but they were still too far away, their faces obscured. The second they grew closer, recognition hit instantly. One of them was the same man who’d abducted Ariana.
The same bastard I’d seen watching Sarah in the last video she ever posted.
My jaw tightened as the second guard stepped into view.
Another familiar face.
One of the men I’d killed in Maine.
Several seconds passed with nothing happening, and I was about to ask Blake what was going on. Finally, three more men entered the frame.
Nikolai Volkov was in the front, two guards flanking him.
Two more faces I recognized.
Two more bodies buried somewhere in the Maine wilderness.
I stepped closer to the screen, squinting as I tried to read their lips, albeit unsuccessfully.
“What are they saying?”
“There’s no sound. Just keep watching.”
I leaned closer, studying their body language, tension radiating from the two brothers as they argued.
Then one of Alexei’s own guards grabbed him and forced him to his knees.
“What the hell...” My eyes widened when Nikolai reached into his coat and pulled out a handgun, raising it and shooting his brother in the head.
Blake paused the footage as the Bratva soldiers carried Alexei into a nearby storage container while Nikolai walked off.
“So it wasn’t gang-related,” I exhaled.
“Most definitely an inside job. I’m guessing a power play.”
“How very Hamlet of him.”
“But unlike in Hamlet, Nikolai didn’t count on the majority of the brotherhood backing Mikhail for Pakhan instead, so his plan backfired.”
I nodded, studying the paused screen for several more seconds before shifting my attention to Blake. “What does this have to do with Sarah?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why?—”
“But this?” He pointed at the screen. “This might keep you alive if you still insist on following through with this suicide mission. You give Mikhail information about his father’s real killer and maybe, just maybe, he not only lets you live but gives you information about the Bratva’s arrangement with Victor.”
It wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than what I had just a few minutes ago.
“This is good, Blake.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Considering I’m still sidelined, it’s the least I can do.”
