21. Victor
VICTOR
My eyes snap open.
The room is too bright as sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I reach across the bed instinctively, my hand searching for warm skin, for her.
But the sheets are cold.
I bolt upright, scanning the suite. The living room is visible through the open bedroom door.
"Danika?"
My voice goes unanswered.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. The silence presses in. There's no sound of running water, no footsteps, nothing.
She's fucking gone.
Anger rises in me as I pull on my boxer briefs and walk out into the living room. The red dress lies in a crumpled heap near the table, the fabric sliced clean through where I cut it off her last night.
I look around. What did she... Oh, I spot that my white dress shirt is missing from the chair where I tossed it.
She left in my shirt.
I shake my head and rub my face.
I turn toward the table, intending to grab my phone, and...
I freeze. My laptop sits open.
Shit.
I walk over to it and tap on the touchpad.
The screen lights up, and there's a notification box in the center:
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
My blood turns to ice.
No, no, no.
I slam my palm on the table as I stare at the screen. She hacked me. She fucking hacked my laptop while I was asleep and stole whatever I had stored.
My fist clenches, rage spiking hot and fast through my veins. Of course she did. I let my guard down for one night, and she...
I exhale hard through my nose, forcing myself to calm down. I swipe away the notification and unlock the laptop.
The desktop appears, and something catches my eye.
I lean in, and there, sitting on my desktop, is a folder I've never seen before.
I stare at it for three full seconds, my brain struggling to catch up.
I double-click it, and hundreds of files and subfolders cascade across the screen. Financial records. Emails. Communications. Ledgers. Payroll documents. Photos.
Wait. She didn't steal from me.
She left me a copy.
Holy shit.
I grab my laptop and sink onto the couch, putting my computer on my knees. My fingers hover over the trackpad before I double-click on a file.
I start scanning the internal Bratva communications and structural documents, and almost immediately, things start not making sense.
There are tons of documents that clearly list Ivan Volkov as the Pakhan. The don.
Not Dimitri. Ivan.
I stare at the screen, stunned. Ivan is the leader of the Volkov Bratva? For how long? I quickly open another folder, tracing the central, legitimate Volkov accounts. They are entirely controlled by Ivan.
My heart starts pounding as I pull up another set of financial ledgers, the ones tracking the Siberian Ice shipments, the human trafficking rings, and the $50 million transaction my father made for Elena.
I trace the routing numbers carefully. The money from those operations doesn't flow into Ivan's central Bratva accounts. It's being actively siphoned off, bypassing Ivan completely, and buried in offshore shell companies.
And as I click through files and confirm my suspicions, every single one of those shadow accounts is tied directly to Dimitri.
My mind reels, the pieces snapping into place and flipping everything I thought upside down.
Dimitri isn't the head of the snake.
While it looks like he legitimately handles operations in Europe, Ivan is the one who controls the empire.
Which means Dimitri is running a rogue syndicate right under his brother's nose. He's using the Volkov name to fund trafficking and distribute drugs, keeping the profits entirely off the Bratva's official books.
And since he's hiding the money, it means Ivan has no idea.
I rub my face, a bitter wave of self-disgust washing over me. How the fuck did I miss this? How did I not know Dimitri wasn't the leader?
It doesn't take me long to find my answer.
Because I went rogue as well. Not in the fuck over my family type of way. But in the i'm a selfish bastard who couldn't see past my own agenda kind of way.
If I had looped Lucian in, if I had used our full intelligence network before hopping on a plane to Italy, our guys would have caught this.
I would have known exactly who was holding the reins.
But I was so blinded by my own ego, my need to handle this revenge myself, and my complete obsession with catching a certain blonde Russian cleaner that I walked blindly into everything.
Fuck.
Danika's loyalty to Ivan makes perfect sense now. She doesn't know about the trafficking because her boss doesn't know. To her, the Volkovs are clean, and I just looked like a man who was mistaken.
I need to get this to our tech guys so they can fully expose every dirty deal Dimitri has buried. This is leverage. I can use this to pit the brothers against each other, feed Ivan the proof of his brother's treason, and take Dimitri out for good.
A slow smile flashes across my face.
Maybe Danika leaving this data wasn't the betrayal I thought it was. She just handed me the keys to the kingdom.
I close the laptop and stand, carrying it with me as I walk to my suitcase. My phone sits on top, the screen lit up with notifications.
Two texts from Lucian.
CALL ME.
WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
I wince. Lucian's going to be pissed when I tell him everything, but the data on this hard drive will smooth it over, I hope. Like me, Lucian respects results.
I check the time. Just past nine in the morning. The files are too massive to send over a hotel connection. I need to shower, pack, and fly this laptop straight to Bucharest before Dimitri's men figure out where I am.
I grab a fresh suit from my suitcase and head into the shower.
The hot water hits my shoulders, and I close my eyes, letting the steam fill my lungs.
Last night replays in my mind without permission.
Danika on the table, her legs wrapped around my waist, her nails digging into my shoulders. The way she gasped when I buried myself inside her. The heat of her skin. The taste of her.
The way she looked at me when I pinned her wrists above her head, like she wanted me to take everything.
My cock hardens, aching and insistent.
I wrap my hand around it, stroking slowly at first, then faster.
I should be furious that she slipped away.
I should accept that getting involved with a Bratva assassin is a toxic, fatal mistake.
But all I can think about is her body arching beneath mine, her blue eyes locked on me, daring me to keep going.
I grit my teeth, my hand moving faster, chasing the release I need to clear my head.
I squeeze my cock, imagining her tight heat wrapped around my shaft.
The thoughts are overwhelming, and it doesn't take long.
I come hard, my breathing ragged.
I shut off the shower and towel off quickly, dressing in a charcoal suit. I adjust my cufflinks, strap my shoulder holster on beneath my jacket, and slide my gun into place.
By the time I'm packed, the suite looks untouched, save for the messy bed.
I grab my suitcase, slide my laptop into the side panel, and head for the door.
Just as I get about halfway into the living area, a sharp knock comes from the door.
I stop.
For a split second, hope flares in my chest.
Danika.
But my instincts know better.
"Room service," a muffled voice calls from the other side.
I set my suitcase down carefully, my hand moving to my gun.
"I didn't order anything."
There's a moment of silence, and then the door unlocks.
"I said I..."
I'm unable to finish as the door swings open and men rush in.
I'm confused for a moment, but that ends quickly as they start shooting at me.
I run and jump behind the bar as bullets tear through the suite. Glass shatters. Wood splinters, and the couch explodes in a cloud of stuffing.
I draw my gun, pop up, and fire twice. The sound is loud since I don't have a silencer on it.
One of my bullets strikes a wall, causing the long mirror to spiderweb. The other shot hits a man in the chest before he clears the doorway. His body crumples to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
I'm forced back down as a second man returns fire. I wait until he stops, then lean out the side and put a bullet through his skull.
I look around quickly and see one more man hiding in the hallway, peering around the doorframe.
I start to get up and am caught by surprise.
Another motherfucker I didn't see rushes me. A bullet flies past the side of my head, and the top of my ear burns.
He goes to fire again, but it's a wild shot. He crashes into me, and my gun is knocked out of my hand.
We roll around on the floor, and the other man hiding in the hallway comes in, yelling in Russian.
I hook my legs around the man and flip him over so he's on top of me. His comrade fires three times, striking him in the back. The man goes limp and becomes incredibly heavy.
I reach for a fallen shard of glass and throw it at the man standing there. It hits his face, and he yells. I grunt as I push the man off me and scramble to get my gun.
I reach for it, roll onto my back, and fire.
Two shots, both at the man's face. He falls to the ground like a sack.
I lean my head back, gasping for air. "Fuck!"
Getting to my feet, I wipe at my ear, and my fingers come away with blood, but realize it was minor.
I lower my gun, run over, grab my suitcase, and take off. I pop my head out. The hallway's clear, so I go to the stairwell and run down. As I descend, I glance down at my luggage.
My stomach drops.
The black leather is shredded, holes punched clean through the fabric. I rip it open, my hands shaking.
The laptop.
No.
The screen is shattered, spiderwebbed with cracks. I flip it over. Two bullet holes go right through the back casing.
"Damn it!" I yell, sealing up my luggage.
The only copy of the data. Gone. I hope I can retrieve the hard drive contents later, but right now, I have to move.
I keep running down the stairs and bolt for the back exit.
The private docks are normally quiet, but right now, there are about five people staring at something.
I get closer and...
My mahogany speedboat is half-submerged, sinking slowly into the harbor.
"Motherfuckers."
I turn and sprint toward the front of the hotel, weaving through startled guests and bellhops. I flag down the first taxi I see and hop in.
"Drive. Now."
The driver doesn't respond. He just nods and floors it.
The coastal road blurs past, the Mediterranean sparkling under the morning sun. I lean back in the seat, my jaw tight, my mind racing.
I should walk away. I should fly to Bucharest, tell Lucian what happened, and accept that getting involved with a Bratva cleaner was a mistake. We'll never be able to be together the way I want. Not with her allegiance to a rival family.
But both Ivan and Dimitri are massive problems for my family now, and Dimitri is absolutely guilty. He needs to be put down for what he did to Adrian and Elena.
And if my laptop is destroyed, Danika is the only person I can get to who holds the proof of what Dimitri is up to. Proof we'll need for any kind of leverage.
I need that data to stop this war.
And God help me, I need her.
She thought she could just slip away and close the book on us, but she's wrong. We aren't done.
I lean forward, tapping the plastic partition separating me from the driver.
"Continental Hotel," I say, my voice cold.