Page 19 of Sinful Embers

“She’s a high-potential individual,” Nikolas says with a faint hint of pride.

“Jesus. You really are a lot packed into a small package,” I mutter, locking the will back into the safe. Sabrina’s knack for noticing patterns and unraveling puzzles is a hell of an asset.

Silence falls over the office as I sit back down. Sabrina returns to the murder board, her focus laser-sharp as she studies it. Nikolas folds his arms, his expression contemplative. For a moment, the room feels heavy with unspoken questions and a shared sense of urgency.

“Did you find out the name of Wanda Manning’s Russian oligarch husband?” Nikolas asks suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Give me a minute.” I turn to my laptop, grateful for the distraction. My fingers fly over the keyboard, but frustration builds as I scroll through countless search results. “Fuck. There’s nothing—no name, no photos. Just that he likes to stay out of the public eye.”

“May I?” Sabrina asks, motioning toward my laptop.

“Knock yourself out,” I reply, pushing it toward her.

She dives in, her fingers flying across the keys as she works her magic. While she types, I glance back at the board, grudgingly admitting to myself how useful it’s become. The connections, the suspects, the questions—it’s all there, mapped out in a way that makes the enormity of our task feel just a little more manageable.

“Got it!” Sabrina’s triumphant voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

Nikolas straightens immediately. “What did you find?”

“His name is Timir Midrichon,” she says, glancing up at us. But her excitement falters as something clicks in her mind.

Nikolas freezes. “What did you say?” His voice is low, dangerous.

“I hacked into UK marriage records,” she explains, biting her lip. “Their marriage certificate says they were married on December fifth, ten years ago.” Her face falls as realization dawns. “Fuck… That’s the same year…”

“My father and uncle were killed,” I finish grimly.

“Leigh lost her memory,” Sabrina adds softly.

“And Vivienne died,” Nikolas finishes, standing abruptly. He grabs a red pen and strides to the board. Beneath Golden Hydra, he writes: Leader = Timir Midrichon – Ice Man. He turns to us, his expression dark. “Timir Midrichon was the man I was hunting eleven years ago. He led the Zolotaya Gidra to Russia to take over Dragunov Village.”

“That’s where I recognize the name Golden Hydra,” I say, my memory snapping into focus. “It was the syndicate my uncle Dmitri tried to take down. He got a lot of my grandfather’s best men killed, along with some villagers. We nearly lost that village—it’s critical to my grandfather’s operations in Russia.”

“That’s why your grandfather disowned Dmitri,” Nikolas adds.

I glance up at Sabrina. Her eyes are fixed on the photo of my family. The one that had upset Leigh yesterday after our wedding.

“Who’s that?” Sabrina points to one of the men. I tell her and she frowns squinting at the board once before scooting around my desk and grabbing a pen then head toward the murder board.

Sabrina grabs the pen from him, turning toward the board. I watch as she scribbled something on the board, keeping what she’s written hidden. When she spins around her eyes are sparkling with triumph.

“Timir Midrichon’s not a real name, it’s an anagram,” she says, her voice laced with excitement. “I’ve teetered between the Ice Man being Oleksi, Carlos, even maybe someone on Radomir’s staff. Although the only thing that would make sense was for the man to be someone that connected your family to Leigh.”

“Okay.” I look at her curiously.

“How did the Ice Man and Carlos get into the dungeon, Uncle Nik?” She addresses him.

“Most of the me were dead,” Nikolas tells her. “But whoever killed them…”

“Managed to get close enough that the guards in the dungeon wouldn’t have thought he was a threat,” Sabrina points out. “Someone who they knew.”

“More than likely,” I agree with her.

Sabrina points to the photo on my desk, her eyes meeting mine. “It all made sense when I saw that picture on your desk. You told me that after your wedding when Leigh saw that photo she was terrified of Oleksi.”

“That’s right.” I nod, hoping she wasn’t going to say it was Gavriil or that my father or uncle faked their own death.

“Then I asked myself, why would a Greek oligarch married to a heiress such as Wanda Manning want to keep his identity a secret?” Sabrina explains. “To me he’d either be a spy, living two separate lives, or a criminal.” She steps away from the board exposing the unscrambled name. “I’m guessing a criminal.”

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