Page 97 of The Bratva’s Secret Heir

“Stop,” I say through the feed. “Take pictures first, check for prints, and trace the power before you remove it.”

The technician lowers his hand. “Understood.”

Leonid calls from Moscow. “The courier company’s accounts are frozen. The judge signed the order six minutes ago.”

“What did you give him?”

“A reminder that Maksim still has his photographs from Sochi.”

Maksim leans over my desk. “He dislikes being reminded.”

“Good. Freeze the owners’ private accounts as well, then pull every payment made in the last six months.”

Leonid is already typing. “I’ll send the first list within the hour.”

I take another spoonful of broth, watch Abramov’s men tear open the next wall, and listen as each room is cleared.

When the medicine begins to work, I make the slow walk to the Women’s Wing.

Vera, still in yesterday’s sweater, brushes Misha’s teeth while he keeps turning his head to talk around the toothbrush.

“Hold still,” she tells him. “Your teeth can’t hide from me.”

I stop in the doorway. “I’m moving you both farther inside the family wing.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re informing me.”

“I’m asking.”

That slows her for half a second.

The inner family suite sits beyond the chapel corridor and has no service entrance, no exterior balcony, and one reinforced door tied directly to the security annex. It has two bedrooms, a sitting area, a kitchen, an attached playroom, and windows facing an enclosed courtyard rather than the woods. A small office beside the sitting area faces the courtyard. Its desk sits beneath the window, with two chairs in front and a couch against the opposite wall.

Vera looks toward Misha, who drives his yellow car across the polished floor with toothpaste foam around his mouth.

“For how long?” she asks as she takes Misha into the bathroom and helps him spit out the toothpaste.

“Until Abramov rebuilds the west-wing system and identifies everyone who touched it.”