Page 98 of Secret Heir

He strokes my hair lovingly. “A woman who’d done everything she could to keep our son safe. Who’d sacrificed her own comfort, her own dreams, her own life to make sure he survived.” His voice breaks slightly. “You did exactly what a mother should do, Aria, and I’m not angry at you for it.”

The words break something in me, and I collapse against his chest, sobbing harder. He holds me while I fall apart. He doesn’t try to stop the tears, murmuring Russian words I don’t understand but that sound like comfort and home.

Eventually the sobs subside into hiccups then into shaky breathing. I’m exhausted, wrung out, but also lighter somehow. Like the truth has released some of the weight I’ve been carrying.

“Tell me again,” Maksim says quietly, his hand never stopping its slow rhythmic stroke to my head. “Everything you remember from that night. Every word.”

So I do. I recount it all—the warehouse, the execution, watching him leave, Alexander and the unknown man, every fragment of conversation I can remember.

Maksim’s expression gets darker with each detail.

“The Cyprus accounts,” he mutters, raking a hand through his own hair so it stands up. “The same accounts I’ve been investigating. The irregularities Alexander kept explaining away.”

I blink. None of this is making any sense to me. “What are you talking about?”

Maksim lets the full effect of his gaze land on me and he looks pissed. “I’ve been tracking financial discrepancies for months. Money flows through Cyprus, then Luxembourg, then the Caymans. Alexander always had explanations, but something felt wrong.” He scowls. “Eight years ago, they were setting up those accounts to fund the move against Nikolai and they’re still active.”

It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Y-you think he’s still planning it?”

Maksim nods curtly. “I think he’s been waiting for the right moment.” His jaw clenches with anger. “He’s been extraordinarily patient. But he’s going to move soon. I can feel it.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling over us.

“What time is it?” I finally ask. I’m exhausted but still too wired to sleep, especially with Nikolai arriving soon.

Maksim checks his watch. “Three forty. Nikolai should be here soon.”

Fear spikes through me. “What if he doesn’t believe me?” I whisper.

“Then we convince him.”

I stare at him in disbelief. How can he be so assured? “Maksim, need I remind you that I have no proof. It’s my word against a man he’s trusted for fifteen years.” My breathing is starting to speed up. “Why would he believe me?”

“Because I believe you. And Nikolai trusts my judgment,” Maksim said confidently, if not a little arrogantly. I want to strangle him.

“Not when it comes to me.” I stand up, pacing. “He’s going to think I’m a liar and⁠—”

The intercom buzzes. “Nikolai Sokolov is here.”

A whimper comes out of my mouth. Maksim stands and crosses to me, taking my hands. “Breathe, moya,” he whispers. “We tell him the truth. We show him the footage. And we trust that he’ll see reason.”

I nod, even though I don’t believe it. This will not go well.

“Send him up,” Maksim tells the intercom.

Two minutes later, Nikolai walks into the office.

When I saw him last, he wore a suit and was the polished, controlled Bratva leader. Now, at nearly four in the morning, there are cracks in that facade. His dark hair is slightly mussed. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black long sleeved shirt, clearly dressed in whatever was closest when Maksim called. But even in casual clothes and exhausted, he radiates authority and danger.

The scar along his jawline stands out in the lamplight, and his eyes—those cold gray eyes so like Maksim’s but utterly without warmth—sweep over me with the same dismissive assessment I remember from before.

His eyes land on Maksim. “This better be good,” he says, irritated. “You said it was urgent and I was to trust no one.” He glances at me again. “I assume this has something to do with her?”

“Sit down.” Maksim gestures to the chair across from his desk. “We need to talk about Alexander.”

Nikolai’s irritated expression deepens. “We’ve been over this. The financial irregularities have explanations.”

“This isn’t about the finances.” Maksim pulls up the warehouse footage on his laptop. “Aria witnessed something eight years ago on the night of the Red Hook execution.”