Page 14 of The Bratva Betrayal

She disappears around the same time every night.

Always with two guards trailing behind her. Irish, not mine. That should’ve been enough to raise a problem the second she stepped into this house.

It didn’t.

Because she didn’t feel like one.

That was my first mistake.

She shops. High-end places, consistent patterns. Not random, or impulsive, just intentional like she’s maintaining an image.

Same with the charity events. Kids, hospitals, smiling for cameras like she’s soft, like she belongs somewhere clean and untouched by this world.

It’s a good cover. Most people see that and stop asking questions.

I don’t.

She drives a black Audi, understated but expensive enough to notice. She keeps a schedule, and has a hair appointment on the last Thursday of each month.

Same place, same time.

Too predictable.

People like her don’t build routines unless they want something hidden inside them.

My gaze drops back to the laptop, anger settling in deeper now because none of that explains why she was in here. None of it explains why she was looking at bratva shipments.

“She’s digging.”

Benedikt’s voice cuts through the silence. The only person who shows up at my house this late.

“Yeah.” I close out the last file. “She is.”

He steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t need to ask what I’m doing.

He already knows.

I told him.

“What did she get?” He moves closer.

“Nothing she can use,” I reply. “But she wasn’t guessing.”

He goes still. “Meaning?”

“She knew where to look.”

That lands.

He sighs, then shifts to the next problem. “Shipment’s coming in tonight,” he says. “Private.”

I glance up at him. “No guns?”

His mouth twitches. “No.”

“What, then?”

“A necklace.”