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“To you, that makes your hands clean?”

Mikhail looked down at his wrists, as though considering the question seriously. “No man at this table has clean hands.”

I leaned forward. “What did Yuri receive?”

“The territory. Men. The businesses left standing after the explosion. Trade routes,” Mikhail gestured toward the record.

The entire murder reduced to a corridor changing hands.

“And Sokolov?” Ivan asked.

Mikhail’s attention shifted toward him. “Viktor disappeared before the raids because he understood my organization was about to collapse.”

“You warned him?”

“No.” The answer carried the first edge of bitterness I had heard. “He warned himself.”

“Does he still have the key?”

“Perhaps.”

“You know more than perhaps.”

Mikhail looked again toward the dark glass, then back to me. “Yuri introduced his son to every useful man he had. Lawyers. Brokers. Killers. Sokolov was more valuable than most. When Yuri died, Dmitry inherited his territory, the soldiers, and his alliances.”

“Including Sokolov.”

“Indeed.”

“Levon wants the Bellandi ports,” I said.

“He has Balkan weapons and men,” Mikhail replied. “He needs Bellandi facilities in Sicily and the Caruso companies in America to move them.”

“Dmitry needs Levon’s crews to hide his vendetta inside a port war.”

“And Sokolov supplies the money,” Ivan said.

Mikhail’s mouth tightened. “What remains of my money.”

“You’re not directing this.”

“No. The indictment exposed the old shells where the money is hidden. Viktor has one chance to empty Veles before the federal team reaches it.”

“So, this is one final transaction so Sokolov can get his hands on what remains of your money,” I said.

“Exactly.”

Levon wanted the ports. Dmitry wanted me. Sokolov wanted to disappear rich.

Then Mikhail’s gaze returned to me. “Listen. Yuri understood something you never did. Killing a Morozov is difficult. Punishing one is not.”

Every single muscle in my body tightened, preparing for violence while my mind remained cold enough to understand that was exactly what he wanted.

“Your father had your mother. You had the girl in New York. Now there is a Bellandi daughter sleeping inside your perimeter,” he continued.

My chair moved backward.

Ivan said my name.