Page 57 of Possessive Bratva’s Kidnapped Virgin

“I want Adrian Monroe’s last eighteen months mapped,” I said. “Every known contact. Every location. Every conversation with any identifiable party that generated any kind of record.” I paused. “And I want the Phoenix circuit connections run against our current network. Anyone Siroc intersects with who also appears in that period.”

Dan nodded and moved immediately to the next task, which was why I had kept him for years over considerably less reliable alternatives. He didn’t require the full picture before he could act on a piece of it.

I pulled Gregor into the office later in the morning, restructuring Isla’s security without calling it restructuring—adding personnel to her standing detail, adjusting the camera coverage on our floor. I made up functional adjustments presented as routine rotation because telling Isla that I was tightening her security after her confession would produce an unwanted effect. I was sure she did not experience additional protection as reassurance.

I would tell her later.

Mikhail called me at 8 am after I’d left a message for him and my other brothers about the new, substantial information.

Over the phone, I briefed him in the unembellished way we had always communicated, which was one of the things I had valued most about my oldest brother since we were children: the complete absence of the need to ‘manage’ delivery for him. He received information at the speed it was given, processed it, and responded with exactly what was required.

“What do you need from me?” he asked when I’d finished.

“The financial stabilization is the immediate priority. The raid coverage is already generating the speculation Siroc intended. I need our primary legitimate partners contacted directly. Not through intermediaries. Personal contact from family members they have existing relationships with.”

“I’ll handle Brennan and Volkov’s office personally,” he said. “Viktor can take Leland.” A pause. “Dmitri?”

“Not for the partner contact.” Dmitri’s gifts were not in the area of measured, confidence-building professional communication, particularly not in a situation where measured and confident were the essential registers. “I have another use for Dmitri.”

“He’s going to want to move against White directly.”

“I know.” I looked at my legal pad. “But he’ll move when I tell him to move. Not before.”

“How is she?”

“Managing,” I said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“She’s relieved, I think. The way people are relieved after they’ve said something they were afraid to say and the building is still standing.” I paused. “She offered to leave. To disappear again.”

There was silence. And that was a silent prompt.

“I said no,” I said.

“Good,” Mikhail said, with the same finality he’d used in the sitting room three weeks ago. “Then I’ll make the calls.”

*****

When I entered our room again, I didn’t find Isla. But the cool night breeze from the open screen door leading to the balcony told me where she was. So that was where I went.

I had not planned to find her with a shawl pulled around her shoulders, with her hands on the railing and her face turned toward the Strip with the expression she wore in the window moments. She seemed smaller altogether—and that made something twist painfully inside me. Something that wasn’t unrelated to the softness of her name, her face, the feel of her skin whenever I was lucky enough to touch it, and even the mere thought of her filled my chest with.

I stood beside her.

I didn’t speak immediately. She didn’t either. Below us, the city was transitioning into the hour when the evening’s serious business began, money moving and music louder. It was a view I had looked at from these floors for years without it meaning anything beyond operational context.

Tonight, it was the backdrop to the woman standing beside me, and the thought of someone out there who had looked at her and seen a mechanism.

“I expected you to push me away,” she said. She wasn’t looking at me—still looking at the city—and the directness of the statement, delivered to the air rather than to my face, was its own form of trust.

“I know,” I said.

“Did you think about it?”

I considered giving her the indirect version, the version that was already modified for reassurance. Then I considered who I was talking to and set the modified version aside. “For approximately one second,” I said. “When the structural implications were becoming clear and before I finished understanding them.” I looked at the side of her face. “One second.”

“And what changed it?”