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 thetable, 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'sbeing 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.
