Page 81 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

Karl has always preferred manipulation over confrontation.

This is exactly the kind of move he’d make. Use the daughter. Use the husband. Use everybody. Then sit back while they do the work for him.

The bastard played both Sofia and the Rusnaks.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, I can see the board clearly.

Unfortunately, clarity creates another problem.

A much bigger one.

Because under normal circumstances, this would be easy. Painfully easy.

Manipulate Sofia. Gain her trust. Find the code. Problem solved.

I’ve done worse things for far less important reasons. But the thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Because things are different now. I don’t want them to be. But they are. And denying it would be pointless.

I know Sofia. At least enough to know how she’ll react. She doesn’t know she has the code. I’m almost certain of that.

No. This is something else. Something buried. Something Creed left behind without telling her.

Which means if I suddenly sit her down and start asking questions, she’ll reach the obvious conclusion. That I married her for information. That everything between us was a lie.

The trust between us is fragile enough already.

That conversation would destroy it.

“Do you think she really has it?” Ben asks.

I look toward the bookshelves lining the office wall.

My mind immediately flashes to Sofia’s library. To the boxes she’d unpacked. To the way she’d arranged those books.

My jaw tightens. “I do.”

Ben folds his arms. “Why?”

“Because I’ve seen her organize books.”

His expression immediately turns skeptical.

I ignore it.

“Creed hid information inside books.”

Now Ben is listening.

“He used patterns. Systems. Layered indexing. Everything looked random until you knew what you were looking at.”

I think back to Sofia kneeling on the library floor. Stacking books. Moving them around. Rearranging them three separate times.

At the time, it looked harmless. Now it looks deliberate. Not deliberate on her part. Instinctive. Like muscle memory. Like something she’d grown up seeing her father do. Something she’d copied without ever understanding why.

“I think the code is there,” I say quietly. “She even said her father taught her when I asked.”

Ben’s eyes narrow. “And Sofia doesn’t know?”

“No.”