Page 33 of Brutal Bratva’s Owned Hostage

Nikolai didn’t argue further.

“One more thing,” he said, as I reached the door.

I turned back.

“Whoever fed Vale this level of detail is still inside our operation. Finding Vale doesn’t close that hole. It only tells you where the water’s been flowing.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then make sure the conversation with Vale doesn’t consume so much of your attention that you forget the leak is still open behind you. Handle him. Then come back and help me close the actual wound.”

“I intend to do both.”

“See that you do.”

*****

Hours later, I found Vale at one of his private clubs. It was a sleek, modern space on the opposite end of the Strip that had none of the old-world excess our family favored—all clean lines and cold lighting that felt more like a corporate headquarters than a place built for pleasure.

He was already expecting me by the time I arrived, seated at a corner table with a drink, watching the door like a man who’d known this conversation was coming and couldn’t look surprised by it.

I’d met Vale exactly three times before this, always at industry gatherings neither of us could avoid without drawing more attention than either of us wanted. Each time, he had struck me as a man who measured every word before speaking. I’d underestimated him. I understood that clearly now, walking into a club he’d chosen specifically because it put me on his ground rather than mine.

“Dmitri.” He gestured to the seat across from him like we were old associates catching up rather than two men circling the edges of something considerably more dangerous. “I wondered how long it would take you.”

“You already know why I’m here.”

“I have a guess.” He finally lifted his glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “Though I’d be curious to hear you say it out loud, rather than assume we’re both operating from the same set of facts.”

“Someone’s been extracting information from our systems for weeks, months actually. Financial routing, meeting schedules, personnel files. Careful, patient, precisely targeted. The kind of extraction that requires real institutional knowledge, not guesswork.” I kept my voice even, watching him closely for any flicker that might tell me more than his words would. “And the raid on my poker operation wasn’t opportunistic federal timing. It was coordinated with someone who understood exactly when and where to apply pressure for damage.”

“That’s an interesting theory.”

“It’s not a theory.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, quick, controlled, and gone before I could name it. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Dmitri.”

“I think you understand exactly what I’m implying.” I leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch a bit. “I’m not here to accuse you in a room full of your own men, Vale. I’m here to give you the chance to walk away from whatever this is before it becomes something neither of us can walk back from.”

He studied me for a long moment, showing the condescension of a man who believed he still held more cards than he’d actually shown. “You sound tense. More tense than I remember you being, even during the worst of your family’s disputes with mine.”

“I have reason to be tense. Someone’s been quietly dismantling the structure of my operation for weeks.”

“Or,” he said, unhurried, “you’ve simply had a great deal happen recently, and you’re looking for somewhere convenient to place the blame. I heard about your marriage. Sudden, I’m told. Emotionally charged circumstances, from what people are saying. It wouldn’t surprise me if a man in your position started seeing conspiracy where there’s simply instability closer to home.”

“Careful,” I said, my voice dropping lower, losing whatever patience I’d walked in with. I could feel the last of my composure fraying at the edges under his practiced, deliberate provocation.

“I’m simply making an observation.”

“You’re implying my judgment is compromised.”

“Am I?” He spread his hands slightly, giving the picture of wounded innocence. “I’m merely noting that emotionally charged decisions have a way of clouding a man’s judgment. It happens to the best of us, Dmitri. No shame in it.”

“You’ve clearly done your research on my personal life. I’m curious how much of it came from the same sources feeding you information about my systems.”

Something like surprise flickered behind his composure, but did not leave quick enough that I missed it. “I make it my business to understand my competitors. That’s simply good practice.”

“Competitors don’t usually need personnel files and meeting schedules, Vale. That requires something closer than competition. My judgment is fine. What isn’t fine is someone using my own credentials to build a picture of my family’s operations methodically enough to plan a coordinated raid, and then sit across from me pretending he doesn’t understand why I’d take that personally.”