Page 67 of Power's Fall

He was still smiling and satisfied after his orgasm by the pool, but his brain snapped back to work mode when he answered the call and heard his admiral say, “The mother is still alive.”

“Hold on, let me get my trinity.” He rose from the bed, glancing around the room then helping himself to a pair of Montana’s boxers.

Nikolett’s slow, controlled inhale was audible, her unspoken feelings about the trinity contained to that single breath.

She was still pissed that Eric had placed him in a marriage despite her protests. He’d pointed out that if she’d told the fleet admiral more of what was going on in Hungary, he might have changed his mind, but she’d refused. Normally, the fleet admiral only approved matches, rarely making them, though the last fleet admiral had married the current admiral of England to his trinity in a spur-of-the-moment decision right before he died.

Nikolett and the fleet admiral were either going to kill each other or fuck.

Except theyhadfucked. Maybe.

Vadisk had tried to shoulder past the head of the Spartan Guard that night a year ago in Dublin, to see what was happening in the bedroom and do what he could to protect Nikolett, but Regina had two other guards hold him back. Eric’s snarled command to shut the door had certainly made it sound like they’d been in the middle of something. But neither of them had looked happy afterward.

And then they had another run-in six months ago, and once again, Vadisk had no idea what had happened between Eric and Nikolett because Nikolett hadn’t said anything afterward.

Nikolett had been even more closed down after that Trinity Council meeting in Dublin, and he’d been so freaked out about his marriage he hadn’t pushed her to tell him what happened. He knew other things took place in that meeting, and that his marriage wasn’t the only decision made.

Maybe it wasn’t the only marriage that had been arranged.

Vadisk held his phone away from his mouth and called out, “Montana, Dahlia.”

Dahlia emerged from the bathroom, wearing pajamas. Montana jogged down the hall, three bottles of water in hand, his gaze sweeping the bedroom as he entered. They’d all briefly fallen asleep but woken up when Dahlia climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom, managing to elbow and kick both of them, since she couldn’t see where she was going. Vadisk ended up grabbing her and lifting her off the bed while Montana got up to turn on the lights.

Dahlia rejoined Vadisk on the bed, Montana joining them a moment later and passing out water.

Vadisk held the phone up to them, letting them see Nikolett’s name on the screen.

“Wait, let’s go to the living room,” Dahlia said quickly.

The three of them quickly walked out of the primary bedroom to the living room. Montana was calm and ready, Dahlia tense and wary.

“Can we switch to English?” Vadisk asked Nikolett in Ukrainian as he finally put his phone back to his ear.

“Are you putting me on speaker with your…trinity?”

“Yes.”

Nikolett cleared her throat, then said in English, “I have information for you.”

Vadisk set it to speakerphone, holding his phone flat on his palm.

“Antonia Abduramanov, mother of Sinaver Abduramanov, is alive and living in a memory care facility in Switzerland.”

They took a moment to process that information.

“A memory care facility in Switzerland sounds expensive,” Dahlia said slowly.

“It is. But money has almost never been a problem for Antonia and Sinaver Abduramanov.”

Montana gave Vadisk’s shoulder a little push, and he sat on the couch, Dahlia beside him and Montana perched on the table, leaning in.

“He said his mother didn’t have to worry about money,” Vadisk said. “But that could have been pride talking.”

“It wasn’t. She lived in Krym, in the same house she grew up in, for years, with no discernible income. That’s not impossible—she could have been bartering or operating with cash—but there are electronic financial records, so it wasn’t that she had cash under a floorboard. Sinaver went to university in Moscow, and while tuition was free, he lived well while he was there. Expensive apartment, fine dining, clubs.”

“The blackmail was their income. And a good income.” Dahlia squeezed Montana’s hand.

“We already assumed he was our guy,” Montana said. “Sounds like all the evidence supports that.”

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