Page 18 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

The first one contains pens and paper clips and other useless shit. The second has files on legitimate businesses. The third drawer is locked.

I pull out my wallet and extract a thin piece of metal. Lock picking is something I picked up in Siberia, along with a multitude of other skills. The lock clicks after thirty seconds of work.

Inside are more files. These are thicker, stuffed with documents and handwritten notes in Dmitri’s distinctive scrawl. I pull out the first file and flip it open.

The first thing I see is shipping manifests. On the surface, everything looks legitimate. Except I know how to read between the lines. The weights don’t match the declared goods.

Dmitri was moving product. The question is what kind.

I’m three files deep when I hear footsteps in the hallway. Vera appears in the doorway wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair still damp from the shower.

“Oksana said you wanted to see me,” she says.

“Come in. Close the door.”

She does, then stands there looking uncertain. Her eyes move around the office, taking in the bookshelves and the paintings and the leather chairs. I wonder what she’s thinking. Did Dmitri ever let her in here?

Probably not. Dmitri didn’t share his business with anyone, especially not his wife.

“Sit,” I say, gesturing to one of the chairs across from the desk.

She sits on the edge of the seat, her hands folded in her lap. There are shadows under her eyes that makeup isn’t hiding. She didn’t sleep well either.

“What is all this?” she asks, nodding toward the spread of files on the desk.

“Dmitri’s records. Business transactions and shipping manifests, that kind of thing.” I pull another file from the drawer and add it to the pile. “I’m looking for a ledger.”

“Which ledger?” Her spine straightens and I can hear the irritation creeping into her voice. “I think I have a right to know what my dead husband did that got him killed.”

“Your dead husband did a lot of things. Which particular sin are you curious about?”

“Whatever one matters enough for you to tear apart his office looking for proof.”

I close the file and lean back in the chair. Vera is watching me with those dark eyes, waiting. She’s not going to let this go.

“Dmitri moved product through the port,” I say carefully. “When things went wrong, he blamed me.”

“So he was smuggling.”

“Among other things.”

“What other things?”

I set down the file I’m holding and look at her properly. She’s leaning forward now, her hands gripped tight on the armrests. There’s color in her cheeks and her eyes are bright with anger.

She wants the truth. Fine. She can have some of it.

“The Bratva has rules,” I say. “Old rules that go back generations. One of them is that we don’t deal in certain things. Drugs, yes. Weapons, yes. Protection, gambling, prostitution, all of that is fair game.” I pause. “But there are lines we don’t cross.”

“What lines?”

“Human trafficking, for one. Anything that violates the old code of honor.”

Her face goes pale. “You think Dmitri was trafficking people?”

“I know he was. I just need proof that will stand up in front of the council.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Her hands uncurl from the armrests and she sits back in the chair, processing this information.