Page 58 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“I’m sorry,” Max says to me. “It’s just, who would’ve told them? We have a mole in the organization. The Feds knew too much already, long before the events of tonight. But Smith clearly had inside information.”

I keep looking around the office, trying to find something, some inanimate object to focus on while I attempt to figure out what happened. It’s better than dwelling over a past that none of us can change. Polina screwed us over once, and we each played a part in that miserable situation.

We can’t let Smith or a potential mole threaten our bond. What Max, Ivan, and I have is more than a simple friendship. It’s more than a brotherhood. It’s a connection that will survive anything as long as we never forget where we came from, and where it is that we strive to get to.

“We talked about approaching Sullivan over the past couple of days while at the penthouse,” I say, deciding to focus on the solution rather than the problem. “Maybe they found out that we own it and they bugged it.”

Ivan shakes his head. “We sweep for bugs every two days.”

“Long-range mics, then? From a neighboring apartment?” I suggest.

“We own the whole floor,” he casually reminds me.

“We talked about Sullivan in the car,” Max chimes in. “Never mind, that gets swept for bugs on a daily basis.”

“Hey,” I mumble, chills running down my spine. “We had a conversation about it not long after our meeting with the Larionov’s the other day.”

And there it is. The flicker of realization, flashing hot-white in Max and Ivan’s green eyes as they both look at me, a half second before Max starts digging through CCTV footage. We have cameras mounted everywhere, including hidden ones in tricky angles for anybody who’s aware and determined enough to try and bug our office.

It takes a few minutes, but Max pulls the footage from our Larionov meeting, while Ivan and I join him in front of the screen.

“Okay,” he says, hitting the play button. “Here’s Larionov and Polina, coming into the office. His guards stayed outside.”

“Right,” Ivan replies. “Fast forward a bit.”

We watch the footage at triple speed and I notice something odd about Polina. “Hold up, slow it down,” I say, then point at the screen. “Look at her.”

“She takes off her ring,” Max mumbles, eyes narrowing as he leans forward toward the screen. “Let me zoom in.”

A couple of seconds later, the three of us bear witness to the greatest insult that a Larionov can commit against the Sokolov’s and the Bratva itself. In the video, it’s clear that Polina had a small recording device hidden underneath her dramatically large, pink quartz ring.

I remember cracking a joke about it being potentially classified as a blunt object and deadly weapon during the meeting—a meeting that none of us wanted to be in but had to—because the Bratva needs the Larionov’s, unfortunately.

“Look,” I say. “She leans forward here, to straighten her shoe strap, supposedly.”

Ivan immediately moves away from the desk and kneels next to the chair in question. He leans all the way down while Max and I listen to his hand patting the bottom of the upholstery. He comes back up holding a small device the size of a penny, just a little bit thicker, disgust giving his face a pale hue.

“Our sweeps didn’t find this,” Max says. “Why? We have detectors for this kind of stuff.”

“It’s ceramic plated,” Ivan replies. “Next generation, Quantico-developed. Only the upper echelon of the FBI’s division has access to this type of tech.”

I blow out a breath, quickly putting two-and-two together. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Max leans back into his chair. “Polina’s working with the local Feds? It can’t be.”

“The Larionov’s working with the local Feds isn’t the craziest scenario,” Ivan surmises. “Not when Larionov is still so keen to keep the Bratva in cahoots with local law enforcement, to keep the corruption and bribery machine well-oiled across Chicago.”

It makes my stomach sink like a lead weight.

“Polina planted a fucking bug in our office,” I say. “This is insane. This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, but it is,” Ivan replies. “She’s probably doing her father’s bidding.”

“It’s in her best interest as well, to keep us from accomplishing what we’re trying to do,” Max says. “She should be ready to embrace the consequences of her actions, though. She knows how this game is played.”

“Now we have an even bigger problem,” I say, as the whole picture comes into sudden focus. “This bug has been recording for what, six days?”

“Yes,” Ivan says.

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