4. RADOMIR
Chapter 4
RADOMIR
Temur enters my office, rolling in Sabrina’s murder board with a satisfied air. The oversized whiteboard teeters on its wheeled frame, and my eyes narrow at the absurdity of it.
“A murder board?” My eyes meet Sabrina’s, and she gives me a big grin. “Really?”
I glance at Temur, raising an eyebrow. His only response is a shrug and a casual, “Sabrina asked for it.”
The room feels tighter as Sabrina stares at the board as if it’s a lover and holds all the answers to the universe. Nikolas sighs, casting me a glance that says he’s resigned to this nonsense.
“She loves doing shit like this,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just go with it.”
“I don’t really have an option,” I reply dryly, my eyes shifting back to Sabrina, who is practically vibrating with excitement.
Temur sets a pack of colorful markers on my desk, nods curtly, and walks out without another word. The room falls silent, save for the faint scrape of chair legs as Sabrina slides her seat back and stands.
I stare at the huge board, sure Temur found the biggest one we had. “What the fuck are we, detectives now?”
Sabrina doesn’t even flinch. “Yes,” she says simply, starting to walk around my desk. “Just give it a try. It’s not like we have anything to lose. Especially since your way hasn’t exactly been working, has it?” She gives me a smug smile, batting her ridiculously long eyelashes at me.
She’s about to reach for the journal beside me, and before I can retort—or Sabrina’s fingers hit the cover—Nikolas moves at the speed of light and snatches it. Sabrina immediately stiffens, her brow furrowing as anger clouds her blue eyes.
“What the fuck, Uncle Nik?” she snaps, her eyes narrowing.
Nikolas meets her gaze with the same calm authority that makes even my men tread carefully around him. “I can’t let either of you see this before we’ve discussed…” His voice trails off awkwardly as he glances pointedly at me. “A few things.”
“That’s bullshit,” Sabrina fires back. “What are you trying to protect us from?” She slams her hands on her hips.
She’s small enough to go unnoticed in most rooms, but her fury makes her seem as towering as Oleksi himself. And I’ve seen her penchant for blowing things up.
“Rina…” Nikolas warns her, his voice dropping to a tone that would make most men realize they’re crossing a line. But not Sabrina. The woman has absolutely no fucking fear. “There are things in here that—"
“Are X-rated?” Her brows shoot up. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Uncle Nik, but I’m no longer an innocent tween and haven’t been since I watched my father’s head explode when a bullet—I now know was meant for me—hit him between the eyes.”
“What the fuck, Sabrina?” My heart lurches as I look at her. “That’s why you no longer like going to your father’s cabin.”
“Something like that.” She glances at me and turns back to Nikolas. “And besides, I’ve read all the bitch’s other journals, and as you know, I don’t forget—a thing. So I already know Vivienne was a fucking narcissistic, hedonistic, sadistic, perverted whore!” Her eyes drop to the journal. “She got her rocks off fucking Gun…”
“Enough!” Nikolas’s voice is barely raised, but it feels like the room shakes. His eyes turn greener than I thought possible as they bore into Sabrina. “That is not the way to approach this. While you may have read the other journals”—his eyes fall on me—“Radomir has not.”
I lean back in my chair, studying Nikolas. “What’s in the journals?” My voice is calm, but the edge in it is unmistakable.
Nikolas hesitates, then says carefully, “Vivienne, Vladimir, and Gunther were... close.”
“Close?” Sabrina scoffs, her lip curling as she turns to me. “Vivienne was fucking your uncle and father. They had regular threesomes while torturing someone—or their latest ‘plaything’ in what Vivienne termed your father’s pleasure dungeon. They’d record it, and she’d always take a copy to play over and over again—probably to masturbate by.” She shudders and makes a gagging face. “God, that’s so gross to even think about. But then, I guess it’s no worse than the twisted shit she documented in her journals.”
I shouldn’t be that surprised by her words, but they still hit me like a punch to the gut. I keep my expression neutral. I’ve heard whispers about my father and Gunther’s proclivities—rumors I dismissed as exaggerations because the staff and people were scared of them. Hearing it from Sabrina, however, feels different.
Nikolas doesn’t react to her words, but the tightening of his jaw tells me he’s struggling to hold his composure. “We don’t need to focus on that right now,” he says, his tone clipped. “We have bigger problems.”
I nod, pushing past the bile rising in my throat. “Like the fact that someone in my organization might be working against me—and that’s how they got to Leigh.”
Sabrina walks back around the desk and picks up four pens: red, green, black, and blue. Then she walks to the board, waiting for me.
Nikolas raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Two days ago, another one of my trucks was hit,” I say, taking a steadying breath. My gaze flicks to Sabrina as I explain what’s been happening over the past two years—the sporadic attacks that have steadily escalated, especially over the last month. “Viktor suspects Daniil, the driver, might be involved. Every shipment Daniil was responsible for, or every warehouse he oversaw restocking, ended up being attacked—always after his involvement, as if the targets were chosen deliberately.”
Sabrina separates the board into four partitions. In black, she writes Molchanov, in green, she writes Leigh, in red, she writes Enemy, and in blue, she writes Other. Under Molchanov, she jots down Daniil, his sister, and a few other names I rattle off.
“Viktor and Judy uncovered more of my trusted staff members than I’m comfortable with, who were working against me.” I rub my temple, the tension building as I continue. “Seeing my safe at the estate opened—and knowing there aren’t many people who know about the helipad door from this apartment either…” My words trail off. Voicing my fear makes it feel too real.
Sabrina’s eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt, her pen darting across the board as she jots a few more points. Nikolas remains silent, his sharp gaze fixed on me, waiting for me to finish.
“After Leigh was taken, I can’t ignore the possibility that someone in my inner circle—someone who knew about my safes and the secret door to the helipad—might be feeding information to Carlos.”
The weight of my own words hangs in the air, pressing down like a lead weight. For a moment, the room feels oppressively silent.
Nikolas leans back, his expression unreadable. “Who is your inner circle?”
I rattle off names: Oleksi, Gavriil—my cousins. They’re blood, and I hate even having to name them. But my mother learned the hard way that sometimes it’s those closest to you who are the most dangerous.
“Viktor, Judy, Temur, Fredrik, Gunner, Dolph, and Sergei,” I add, rubbing my chin. “Then there’s my mother, Galina, and my grandfather, Boris Mirochin.”
“I thought your inner circle would’ve been just you!” Sabrina snorts, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t big bad Bratva kings only trust themselves?”
“Funny.” I shake my head, though she isn’t wrong. In my world, there really isn’t anyone you can trust one hundred percent. But it’s nice to fool yourself into thinking there are those you can count on.
“What about Dmitri?” Nikolas asks, glancing at the names Sabrina has scrawled on the board.
“Isn’t he dead?” The question comes out more as wishful thinking than certainty. If they thought Vivienne, my father, and Uncle Gunther were bad… fuck, they should meet Dmitri. He brings a whole new meaning to sick, twisted, and megalomania. A jolt runs through me at the thought of Dmitri, and my eyes narrow. “Dmitri does know this place very well. Before he was kicked out of the family, he spent a lot of time here in Vegas.”
“Dmitri Molchanov,” Sabrina mutters as she writes the name.
“No,” I correct her. “It’s Mirochin. He’s my mother’s younger brother.”
“Oh!” Sabrina nods, erasing the last name and rewriting it. She turns to Nikolas. “There, now, there are all the people who could be helping.” She taps next to where she’s written Unknown Enemies and a big red question mark. “Now your turn, Uncle Nik.” She caps the black pen and uncaps the green one. “Who are your enemies, or anyone you know who’s after Leigh?” Before he can answer, she writes Carlos posing as Nikolas. “Let’s put Mark here too since he hates you because he thinks you killed Thea.”
“I have more people than I can think of who would love to take me down,” Nikolas admits, his tone grim. “But this isn’t about me or what I do for a living.” He turns his chair slightly, watching Sabrina’s progress. “This is about taking control of five major entities with two key players in the middle of it all.”
His words send a shiver down my spine. I know he means Leigh and me.
Sabrina draws two interconnecting circles, one in black and one in green. In the middle, she writes Leigh in green and Radomir in black. She takes a brown pen and draws a curly bracket beneath them, writing Married at the point of the bracket. She stands for a moment, staring at the board, tapping the pen against her lips before turning to me.
“Who do you trust?” she asks, drawing a larger circle around both inner circles and looking at me pointedly.
I hesitate, the question cutting deeper than I expect. “Right now? Everyone in this room. That’s it.”
Sabrina scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I can see how hard that was for you to admit.”
“I see it this way,” I explain. “Only the three of us are invested in finding and getting Leigh back.” I turn to Nikolas. “You obviously love your daughter. You’ve been skulking in the shadows protecting her for years. You even sacrificed yourself, so she’d be safe, even at the cost of losing her.”
“She’s my Lulu-Petal,” Nikolas says softly, so quietly I almost don’t catch it. A strange pang runs through me at the love I see in his eyes—a love I would’ve given anything to see in my father’s. All I ever got from him was judgment and the occasional pat on the back when I did something he approved of.
My attention shifts to Sabrina. “And you, Sabrina, I could only wish for a friend as loyal as you are to Leigh.”
Her eyes shimmer, tears threatening to spill, but she gets her emotions under control quickly. “Thank you,” she says, her voice steady.
“And the instant you knew I was trying to help Leigh the other night, you extended that trust to me.” I pause, the memory still humbling. “You didn’t know what would happen to you, and you know my reputation, yet you didn’t hesitate to jump into the fire to help Leigh.”
“That’s our Sabrina,” Nikolas says, pride evident in his tone, as if she were his own daughter. “She’s always been like this.”
“The two of you obviously trust each other,” I say, pointing between Sabrina and Nikolas. “I’m guessing not many people know you’re alive, Nikolas.” I glance at Sabrina. “And from what I can gather, you’ve known about his secret since you were a kid.”
“And both she and Leigh have kept it,” Nikolas adds with a soft laugh. “Although Leigh does have dissociative amnesia. But even before she lost her memories, Leigh and Sabrina didn’t say a word to anyone since they were…” He frowns, glancing at Sabrina for confirmation.
“We were six,” Sabrina reminds him. “Well, that’s the first time I met you.” She turns back to the board, writing at the top of the larger circle in brown: Trust: Sabrina and Nikolas. At the bottom in red, she writes: Common Enemy: Ice Man and Wanda Manning—Iceman Industries. Then, returning to Leigh’s section, she writes Greek Monarch in parentheses beside Carlos and jots down Alexandra Vasilikis (Greek Matriarch).
“Wanda Manning has a Russian oligarch husband,” I tell them, frowning. “How does the Ice Man connect to my family?”
“Fuck!” Nikolas suddenly hisses, his voice tight. He’s staring at the laptop, his fingers tapping the touchpad. He spins the screen toward Sabrina and me. “The night of the poker game—did you notice these two?”
Nikolas points to two men in the hotel foyer on the security footage.
“Yes.” Nodding, I explain how Enzo Fabri’s son, Luca, had been tracking those men because they killed Enzo.
“What?” Nikolas sputters, his face paling. “Enzo’s dead?” His expression hardens. “And Luca’s sure these are the men who killed him?”
“Yes.” I nod, my tone firm. “They’re Greek Special Forces.” I narrow my eyes, wondering why Nikolas looks so alarmed. “They’re your mother’s men. Luca said they infiltrated the game looking for Mark because he has something your mother—the Greek Matriarch—wants.”
“No!” Nikolas’s jaw tightens as he zooms in on one of the men’s necks. “See that tattoo sticking out beneath his collar?”
“Yes,” Sabrina and I say in unison.
“That’s a hydra.” Nikolas pinches the bridge of his nose, his expression grim. “Are you sure Luca said these were the men who killed Enzo?”
Nodding, I ask, “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like where this is going?”
Sabrina leans closer, her brows knitting together as she examines the footage. “Are you sure they’re Greek Special Forces?” She glances at me.
“According to Luca, they are.” I recount what Luca told me. “His father wouldn’t tell them where they could find Mark, so they killed him.”
“Are you sure they were looking for Mark?” Nikolas’s words make my chest tighten.
My heart slams against my ribcage as I remember Daniil’s words from the truck ambush: He wants the golden key, the journals, and Dalton.
“Fuck!” I hiss, locking eyes with Nikolas. “They weren’t your mother’s men, were they?” My fists clench, and I slam one against the desk, making Sabrina jump. “They’re Carlos’s. And the Dalton they were after wasn’t Mark—it was Leigh.”
I glance at the screen again, another memory hitting me like a freight train. “I actually saw that tattoo on a few of the men who ambushed us after the truck heist.”
“So, they are with Carlos.” Nikolas’s voice is calm, but there’s a dangerous edge to it. He stares at the screen, his eyes narrowing. “They leave as soon as Leigh bolts through the door.”
“Yes, I noticed that.” I frown, my gaze flicking between Nikolas and the footage. “What I don’t understand is, if they were following her, why not take her then?” My voice sharpens. “Leigh ducked around the back streets and lay low for quite a while before trying to get to the Golden Lights.” I turn to Sabrina. “At least, that’s where my men presumed she was going to find you.”
“Maybe they were hoping she’d lead them to the journals?” Sabrina offers, her eyes narrowing as she studies the screen again. “I don’t think those men are Greek.”
“They’re not.” Nikolas looks up from the laptop, his tone grim. “That tattoo is on both men’s necks. You can’t see it as well on the other guy, but the tip of one of the hydra’s heads is visible.”
“Isn’t the hydra from Greek mythology?” I ask, a flicker of memory surfacing. If I recall correctly, the hydra lived in the swampy waters of Lerna near some ancient city in Greece, and it was slain by Heracles. “Didn’t Heracles shoot it with poison arrows and then cut off its head or something like that?”
“Basically.” Sabrina nods and points to the screen. “But those two men are not Greek.” She glances at Nikolas for confirmation. “They look more Russian to me.”
Alarmed, my eyes dart back to the screen. A fleeting memory taunts me. “Russian?” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. I look to Nikolas. “Is she right?”
He nods slowly, his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. “They are. And that tattoo means Carlos isn’t here alone this time. He’s brought backup.”
The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy and foreboding.