Page 70 of Twisted Vows

“Let’s begin,” Alexey says, his voice a quiet command that cuts through the room like a blade. He gestures to Grigory, who straightens in his seat, the faint glow of his tablet casting shadows across his face.

Grigory clears his throat. “The leaks aren’t random.”

“Go on.” My voice is sharper than intended, but I don’t bother softening it.

Grigory meets my eyes, his expression grim. “Whoever’s disloyal is close. They are not feeding our enemies scraps—it’s logistics, timings, the kind of intel only someone in the inner circle would know. It’s why the docks are a mess and shipments are being intercepted.”

For a moment, I don’t breathe. The bullet digs deeper into my palm, but I don’t release it. “You’re sure?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

Grigory tilts the tablet toward me, showing a series of encrypted messages he managed to trace. “It’s not direct—I can’t pin it to one person—but the access points narrow it down. Whoever it is, they’re good. Careful.”

Alexey leans back. “It has to be Anton. He’s the one handling logistics—routes, schedules, all of it. Who else would have this level of access?”

Yuri, seated in the armchair near the fireplace, growls low in his throat. “That’s bullshit. Anton’s been with the Volkovs since the beginning. Maybe we’re being hacked. Phones cloned, firewalls decimated.”

Grigory sits up. “My firewalls are impenetrable.” He squares his shoulders. “If they weren’t, the Feds would be outside our gates.”

Alexey and Grigory go back and forth, but I barely hear them. My thoughts are locked on the last few weeks—the ambush and strange tension among my men. Nothing has felt right, but I’ve been too preoccupied to connect the dots. Now the picture is forming, and I hate what I see.

Grigory mutters, half to himself, “It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on Anton.”

“We don’t point fingers without proof,” I say, my voice controlled. “If Anton’s the mole, we’ll find out. But until then, we stick to the facts.”

From the corner of my eye, I glance at Ari. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed on some invisible point. She hasn’t said a word since the meeting started, but her presence is palpable.

Before I can dwell on it, Yuri speaks again, his frustration spilling over.

“You’re wasting time,” he says, leaning forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “The Cartel’s been making moves against us for months. Why are we looking inward when it’s obvious who the enemy is?”

“Because this isn’t the Cartel,” I snap, my patience fraying. “The Cartel is sloppy. Impulsive. This”—I gesture to the reports on the desk— “is precise. This is someone who knows where to hurt us.”

Yuri glares at me, but he doesn’t argue further. Alexey says something sharp about the Cartel waiting for us to implode.

The silence stretches until Ari’s voice cuts through it like a blade.

“What about Nikolai?”

The room goes still.

I turn to her, my eyes narrowing. “What about Nikolai?”

She meets my gaze head-on, her expression calm but her words sharp. “He’s close enough to know your plans. He’s smart enough to cover his tracks. And…” She hesitates, just for a moment, before adding, “He’s been… off, lately.”

“What have you noticed?” I ask, my voice low.

Ari keeps her tone measured. “Little things. Questions he’s asked. Things he shouldn’t care about. And … he hesitated during the ambush. Just for a second. But it was there.”

The room is silent again, everyone watching me.

I’ve been suspicious of his change of attitude for months but haven’t done anything about digging up proof.

Alexey leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Noted,” he says finally. “But we need proof.”

“And if we find it?” Yuri asks, his voice low and dangerous.

“Then we do what we do best.” Alexey rises from his seat, signaling the end of the meeting. “We’ll reconvene when we have more to work with.”

Yuri stands first, his chair scraping against the floor. His scowl is as deep as the shadows pooling in the corners of the room. Alexey follows, slower, dragging his hand across the back of his neck. He doesn’t look at me as he leaves, but his frustration is evident in the set of his shoulders.

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