Chapter 21
YURI
We’re released with no formal charges, no apologies. Just an agent with dead eyes handing back my watch, wallet, and phone like they’re returning something from the lost and found. The silence is surgical—they don’t want to admit they got nothing.
They thought they had us pinned. They didn’t.
Spalding’s the last to approach. He doesn't smile, just drops one final comment. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re still under the microscope.”
Then he walks away, leaving the taste of vengeance in the back of my throat.
Outside, it’s raining. Not a dramatic downpour, just a slow, steady bleed from the clouds. If feels appropriate. Everything seems unfinished and frayed at the edges.
The lounge is quiet when we arrive other than the faint hum of jazz vibrating through the oak-lined walls.
The front end runs like any other night with craft cocktails and low conversation, but we’re not here for that.
We slip through the hidden panel in the storage room, guarded by two men with earpieces, each giving us a clipped nod.
The private room smells like old leather and smoke. It’s comforting, in a way. Home turf.
Lev heads straight for the bar and pours three fingers of Glendronach. Luk paces, cracking his knuckles. Alexei leans against the mantle, staring at the fire as if it owes him an answer.
I sit at the table, steepling my fingers, my mind already moving a few steps ahead. The Feds asked too many precise questions—dates, dollar amounts, names. Stuff buried under layers of shell corporations and NDAs. Either they’ve suddenly become brilliant, or they’ve had help.
“Anyone else feel like they knew too much?” I ask.
Lev grunts. “They were naming entities that don’t even exist on paper yet.”
“They’ve been watching us longer than we thought,” Luk adds, still pacing.
“Or someone fed them,” I say, calm but certain. “We’ve got a leak.”
There’s a beat of silence before Lev slams his drink down on the table. “Then we start looking inside. IT. Accounting. Payroll. Any of them could have been turned.”
“Or been threatened,” Luk mutters. “We’ve got people with families. Not everyone holds up under that kind of pressure.”
“We screen for that,” I remind him. “But no filter’s perfect.”
We run through possibilities—names, departments, anyone with access to sensitive data. Then Alexei, quiet until now, looks straight at me. “What about the girl?”
Time freezes. I don’t move, but the air around me drops a degree.
“Astrid’s not the leak,” I state firmly.
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You implied it.”
Alexei lifts both hands in defense. “I’m just saying, she’s smart, but she’s not in the life. She doesn’t know all the rules. Maybe she said something without knowing.”
“She didn’t.”
“She could’ve.”
“She didn’t.” I hold his gaze. “She rerouted the Zurich transfer. She’s saved our asses more than once.”
Lev shifts. Luk looks up at the ceiling.
Alexei doesn’t press. “Alright. Just had to ask.”
I nod once. We move on.
My stomach is tight after seeing those photos Spalding showed me of Astrid stepping out of the clinic. I saw the way he leaned in, grinning like a hyena with a scent of blood.
Was it just bait?
I want to believe it was. But the doubt hasn’t let go.
Not yet.
Lev’s pacing again. Luk’s brow is pinched with the kind of tension that usually ends in broken noses. I’ve moved past frustration. I’m in strategy mode now.
“We can’t sit on this,” I say, voice calm but precise. “We need to run a counter-op.”
Lev raises an eyebrow. “You’re thinking a mole of our own?”
Luk nods in agreement. “Maybe find an agent to flip. Beat them at their own game. We should start looking for possible marks.”
I glance briefly at my phone then up again. “I’ll speak to Elena. Quietly,” I add. “She’ll know where to dig.” A moment of hesitation before I go on. “And I need to talk to Astrid. Alone.”
Alexei tilts his head, not challenging, just watching me closely. “You think she knows something?”
“No,” I reply. “But I need to be sure.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.
Alexei doesn’t push. “Fine. But soon. We don’t have time to waste.”
My brothers file out one by one, muttering final thoughts, calls they need to make, people they plan to put eyes on.
I stay behind. The fire’s gone low. The jazz has stopped.
I think of her.
Her laugh. The look in her eyes when she asked if she could trust me.
I find myself wondering the same damn thing.
Can I trust her?
The thought makes my insides curdle. I hate it. Hate that Spalding got inside my head. Hate that I let the question even form.
But things are different now. We’re exposed. Someone cracked the walls. And if she is pregnant…
I close my eyes.
We have to move like there’s a gun to our heads.
Because there might be.
And I don’t know if she’s standing beside me or watching me through the crosshairs.