6. RADOMIR
Chapter 6
RADOMIR
“No, the Ice Man isn’t Carlos.” Nikolas cuts in sharply, shaking his head. He picks up Vivienne’s journal, his expression darkening. “In here, Vivienne describes Carlos as the man with her late husband’s face and the Ice Man as two distinct people. The Ice Man, she says, has eyes so icy blue they look like they were cut from glass.”
“When Carlos isn’t wearing those contacts, what color are his eyes?” Sabrina asks, her brow furrowing.
“Brown,” Nikolas replies without hesitation.
Sabrina’s lips press into a thin line as she processes this information. Then, as if struck by an idea, her eyes widen. “What is the golden key?” she asks suddenly, her voice tinged with urgency. “Radomir, you said Carlos wanted the golden key.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, my mind racing. Rising from my chair, I stride to my safe, unlocking it with practiced ease. I pull out the document Mark gave me and hold it up for them to see. “Fuck! Could this be it?” I point to the gold key logo stamped on the letterhead.
Nikolas stands abruptly, his gaze sharpening. “Is that what I think it is?”
Sabrina snatches the document before he can. “Holy shit,” she mutters, her tone awestruck as she looks up at Nikolas. “This is your father’s will.” She points to the header. “Look—Gold Key Legal Group.”
Nikolas takes the document from her, his expression hardening. “Have you been carrying this around with you?” His voice is sharp, laced with accusation.
“I’ve been keeping it safe, moving it between secure locations,” I explain. “Until I can get to my bank and put it in a safety deposit box.”
“You need to contact your mother,” Nikolas orders. “She’ll need to coordinate with Gold and Key, and all three of them have to know what’s going on.” He pauses, then adds, “And make sure Galina keeps my mother out of this.”
“Why?” I snap, glaring at him. “My mother can be involved, but not yours?”
“Alexandra isn’t well,” Sabrina interjects before Nikolas can respond. She frowns, glancing between us. “She’s actually staying here at the hotel—in the VIP suite. You know, the one you keep for high-profile guests with targets on their backs.”
My eyes narrow. “How do you know that?”
Sabrina shrugs. “My mother. I overheard her on the phone with your mother. I think she forgets I’m fluent in Russian.”
“You speak Russian?” The words escape me before I can stop them. I shouldn’t be surprised—Carla Craft is Russian—but Sabrina never ceases to catch me off guard.
“I do,” she replies, unbothered. “And Greek. Italian, Spanish, French, German, Dutch, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese…” She starts counting off languages on her fingers. “Oh, and I’m learning Farsi.”
“Jesus Christ.” I stare at her. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you have better things to do? Don’t you get enough sex?”
Sabrina laughs, shaking her head. “No, I get plenty. I just like learning.”
Nikolas clears his throat, his discomfort palpable. “As fascinating as this conversation is—and awkward, considering Sabrina is like a daughter to me—can we focus?”
For the first time, I see Nikolas Vasilikis truly uncomfortable. My mind drifts to Leigh, unbidden. Fuck. I miss her. My cock twitches, my heart jolts, and my thoughts spiral into worry. I force myself to refocus. If I want her back, I need to stay sharp.
“Could the will be the golden key?” I ask Nikolas again, needing confirmation.
He hesitates, his expression thoughtful. “It could be.” he shrugs. “That’s Leigh’s copy of the will, and she’ll need it to claim her inheritance. But there’s also something else…” He glances down, looking almost sheepish. “She’ll need a passcode.”
Sabrina and I speak simultaneously. “What passcode?”
Nikolas looks pained for a moment before he answers. “It’s a song I wrote for her. A short, four-line lullaby.”
Sabrina’s eyes light up. “Oh, oh! Is it the one about the little duchess—”
“Yes,” Nikolas interrupts curtly. “That one. But there’s no mention of a gold key in the song.” He glances at the will again. “This document holds additional cryptic clues. Gold and Key will ask her questions to verify her identity before inviting her for a meeting.”
“Invite her?” I ask, baffled. “Who the fuck are they, royalty or something?”
“They may as well be,” Nikolas replies. “The firm exclusively serves Matriarch and Archontis.”
“Oh, that kind of royalty,” Sabrina quips, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Snobs. And why do you call them Gold and Key?”
“Their names are Giles Gold and Parker Keys.”
“Of course they are.” Sabrina rolls her eyes.
As Nikolas hands the will back to me, my eyes skim over the document, searching for anything that might stand out. Sabrina leans over, clearly reading my intent, and taps her finger on the paper.
“At a guess, I’d say it has something to do with the mix of metric and imperial measurements—and the weird UK and US date formats.”
I blink at her, startled. “What the fuck? How did you even spot that?”
She shrugs, the corner of her mouth twitching into a small, self-satisfied smile. “I’m good with cryptic shit.”
“She’s a high-potential individual,” Nikolas says with a faint hint of pride.
“Jesus. You really are a lot packed into a small package,” I mutter, locking the will back into the safe. Sabrina’s knack for noticing patterns and unraveling puzzles is a hell of an asset.
Silence falls over the office as I sit back down. Sabrina returns to the murder board, her focus laser-sharp as she studies it. Nikolas folds his arms, his expression contemplative. For a moment, the room feels heavy with unspoken questions and a shared sense of urgency.
“Did you find out the name of Wanda Manning’s Russian oligarch husband?” Nikolas asks suddenly, breaking the quiet.
“Give me a minute.” I turn to my laptop, grateful for the distraction. My fingers fly over the keyboard, but frustration builds as I scroll through countless search results. “Fuck. There’s nothing—no name, no photos. Just that he likes to stay out of the public eye.”
“May I?” Sabrina asks, motioning toward my laptop.
“Knock yourself out,” I reply, pushing it toward her.
She dives in, her fingers flying across the keys as she works her magic. While she types, I glance back at the board, grudgingly admitting to myself how useful it’s become. The connections, the suspects, the questions—it’s all there, mapped out in a way that makes the enormity of our task feel just a little more manageable.
“Got it!” Sabrina’s triumphant voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
Nikolas straightens immediately. “What did you find?”
“His name is Timir Midrichon,” she says, glancing up at us. But her excitement falters as something clicks in her mind.
Nikolas freezes. “What did you say?” His voice is low, dangerous.
“I hacked into UK marriage records,” she explains, biting her lip. “Their marriage certificate says they were married on December fifth, ten years ago.” Her face falls as realization dawns. “Fuck… That’s the same year…”
“My father and uncle were killed,” I finish grimly.
“Leigh lost her memory,” Sabrina adds softly.
“And Vivienne died,” Nikolas finishes, standing abruptly. He grabs a red pen and strides to the board. Beneath Golden Hydra, he writes: Leader = Timir Midrichon – Ice Man. He turns to us, his expression dark. “Timir Midrichon was the man I was hunting eleven years ago. He led the Zolotaya Gidra to Russia to take over Dragunov Village.”
“That’s where I recognize the name Golden Hydra,” I say, my memory snapping into focus. “It was the syndicate my uncle Dmitri tried to take down. He got a lot of my grandfather’s best men killed, along with some villagers. We nearly lost that village—it’s critical to my grandfather’s operations in Russia.”
“That’s why your grandfather disowned Dmitri,” Nikolas adds.
I glance up at Sabrina. Her eyes are fixed on the photo of my family. The one that had upset Leigh yesterday after our wedding.
“Who’s that?” Sabrina points to one of the men. I tell her and she frowns squinting at the board once before scooting around my desk and grabbing a pen then head toward the murder board.
Sabrina grabs the pen from him, turning toward the board. I watch as she scribbled something on the board, keeping what she’s written hidden. When she spins around her eyes are sparkling with triumph.
“Timir Midrichon’s not a real name, it’s an anagram,” she says, her voice laced with excitement. “I’ve teetered between the Ice Man being Oleksi, Carlos, even maybe someone on Radomir’s staff. Although the only thing that would make sense was for the man to be someone that connected your family to Leigh.”
“Okay.” I look at her curiously.
“How did the Ice Man and Carlos get into the dungeon, Uncle Nik?” She addresses him.
“Most of the me were dead,” Nikolas tells her. “But whoever killed them…”
“Managed to get close enough that the guards in the dungeon wouldn’t have thought he was a threat,” Sabrina points out. “Someone who they knew.”
“More than likely,” I agree with her.
Sabrina points to the photo on my desk, her eyes meeting mine. “It all made sense when I saw that picture on your desk. You told me that after your wedding when Leigh saw that photo she was terrified of Oleksi.”
“That’s right.” I nod, hoping she wasn’t going to say it was Gavriil or that my father or uncle faked their own death.
“Then I asked myself, why would a Greek oligarch married to a heiress such as Wanda Manning want to keep his identity a secret?” Sabrina explains. “To me he’d either be a spy, living two separate lives, or a criminal.” She steps away from the board exposing the unscrambled name. “I’m guessing a criminal.”
“Holy fuck!” I spit as Nikolas rushes to the board.
“Jesus, kid.” Nikolas glances at her in amazement. “Why didn’t I see this before?”
“Because you weren’t looking at it with all the pieces,” Sabrina replies.
My eyes dart to the photo on my desk. “Fuck. I’ve just never seen the resemblance before,” I mutter. “Icy blue eyes… like glass.” I look at the unscrambled name again—I should’ve thought of it before: Dmitri Mirochin .
Nikolas exhales sharply. “There is one person who can verify that he and Carlos know each other or at least me.” His yes meet mine. “And to do that, you’re going to have to call your mother to confirm it.”
I nod, my mind spinning as I stare at the board. Dmitri Mirochin —it all made sense now. He must’ve been the one to kill my father and Uncle Gunther and it would explain why he’d take their rings. It also make the message he’d left in Olives blood make sense—Dmitri always thought the Mirochin Bratva should’ve been his.