Page 138 of Secret Heir

This isn’t over.

Capturing him is just the beginning.

We transport Alexander to the compound’s medical facility under heavy guard. Dr. Petrov removes the bullet from his thigh and patches him up enough to keep him alive for the council hearing, but not enough to make him comfortable.

Then we lock him in a secure cell in the basement with reinforced walls. There are armed guards around the clock and cameras monitoring his every move.

Nikolai calls an emergency meeting of the Bratva council. Representatives from every major family on the East Coast will attend and they’ll convene in three days.

That’s when Alexander’s crimes will be laid out publicly and he’ll be judged and executed properly according to Bratva law.

But as I watch the monitors showing Alexander in his cell—he’s lying on the cot and staring at the ceiling with that calculating expression—I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still planning something.

Even captured and facing certain death, Alexander Morozov has one more move to make and I’m uncertain of what it might be.

Three days until the council hearing. Three days to dismantle whatever contingencies he’s put in place. Three days to protect my family from whatever final trap he’s laid.

I head upstairs to where Aria and Daniel are sleeping. I need to see them and hold them. I need to remind myself what I’m fighting for. Alexander’s right about another thing. This isn’t over, but he’s wrong about the ending. He thinks he’s won because he has contingencies, and he’s planned for every outcome. But he didn’t plan for one thing: a father who will burn the world to protect his family.

And that’s exactly what I’m prepared to do.

20

ARIA

The Bratva council meeting takes place in Brighton Beach, in a building I used to drive past a hundred times and never really paid attention to.

From the outside, it looks like any other commercial property. It’s a two-story brick building wedged between a Russian grocery store and a travel agency. There’s no sign or indication of what happens inside. There’s just a plain black door with a security camera above it.

But inside, it’s something else entirely.

Maksim’s hand is steady on my lower back as we walk through the entrance, and I feel so damn uncomfortable. My bump is unmistakable under my dress, making me feel exposed and vulnerable in a way I haven’t felt since Philadelphia.

Walking into a room full of the most dangerous men in the organization while pregnant sounds profoundly stupid. But here I am anyway.

Because Alexander Morozov tried to kill my son and love of my life. And I’m going to watch him answer for it.

The building’s interior is surprisingly elegant. There are gleaming dark hardwood floors, cream-colored walls, and expensive artwork. We’re led down a hallway by two silent and armed guards to a set of double doors at the end.

“It’s going to be fine,” Maksim murmurs near my ear. His hand tightens slightly on my back. “Just tell the truth. That’s all you need to do.”

I nod, but my throat is too tight to speak.

The doors open, and we step into what can only be described as a courtroom.

It’s a large rectangular room with high ceilings and more of that dark hardwood. At the far end is a raised platform with a long table where twelve men sit—the council members, all of them in expensive suits and watching our entrance with expressions ranging from curiosity to hostility.

Nikolai sits in the center, elevated slightly above the others. He’s wearing his signature dark suit, his hair perfectly styled, and his cold gray eyes assessing everything. On either side of him are the other council members. My heart beats faster. These are men who’ve spent decades in this world, who’ve killed and ordered kills. They hold the power of life and death over everyone in the organization.

I glance around the room and try to steady my breathing. The room itself feels like it’s designed to intimidate. There are no windows—just walls covered in dark wood paneling and more expensive artwork. The recessed lights in the ceiling cast everything in harsh clarity. There’s nowhere to hide.

In the center of the room is a single, empty chair.

I blanch. That’s where I’ll testify.

My legs threaten to give out.

Along the walls stand more guards. I count at least twenty of them and they’re all armed. This is more security than I’ve ever seen in one place.