Page 16 of Tattooed Heart

I don’t answer. Mikhail doesn’t either. The evidence speaks for itself. Two inmates groaning in pain, one with a dislocated arm, the other half-conscious, both bleeding.

And me? Untouched. Not a scratch. Not a drop of blood that isn’t someone else's. The guards can’t prove shit.

Still, I know what is coming. They drag us toward the wall with zip ties cinched tight, curses flying, and boots thudding against concrete. My wrists burn where the plastic bites into my skin, but I keep my mouth shut. Pain is a familiar companion. I learned to ignore it long ago, back when Otets first taught me that Bratva men don't cry.

One of the guards leans in, his voice low and oily, his breath hot against my ear.

“You're making enemies in here, Popov.”

I meet his gaze, cold and unflinching with an icy stare that's made harder men than him shrink away in fear.

“Then maybe they should bring tougher friends.”

He flinches. Just slightly. But it’s enough to know my message landed.

I might be locked up, but I’m not beaten. Not even close.

As they lead us away, I catch Mikhail's eye. A brief glance, nothing more. But in it is an entire conversation. A plan forming, and a strategy taking shape.

Morozov thought he could reach inside these walls and snuff me out. He thought wrong.

6

SANDY

Waiting is the worst part.

Lev is digging. Aleksandr is watching. And Talia is worrying herself into knots. But I can’t just sit around the estate sipping tea, hoping justice will magically crawl out from whatever rock Morozov’s hiding it under.

Dimitri is still in that concrete cage, one bad day from not making it out. And me? I’m done waiting.

I slump against the bay window in the west wing of the estate, watching rain trace jagged patterns down the glass. Two weeks. Two weeks since they'd taken him. Two weeks of lawyers, bribes, and threats that went nowhere. The clock ticks away another hour of Dimitri's life, each sound like a hammer against my heart.

My phone buzzes with another text from Lev.Nothing yet. The judge is still deliberating on the motion.

Of course, he is. Because that's what corrupt officials do. They deliberate while good men bleed. I toss the phone onto the cushion beside me, watching it sink into the expensive fabricworth more than a year's rent for my apartment. Funny how wealth means nothing when the person you love is locked away. All these rooms, all this space, are empty echoes without him.

The baby kicks in a tiny flutter of protest against my ribs. I place my hand over the small bump, barely visible beneath my sweater.

“I know,” I whisper. “I miss him too.”

Talia doesn’t see it that way.

“You need to let Lev and Aleksandr handle this,”she told me this morning, her voice tight with fear masked as logic.“You're pregnant, Sandy. This isn't just about you anymore.”

She'd cornered me in the kitchen as I made tea, her eyes puffy from another sleepless night. Talia had aged years in weeks, her usual graceful demeanor fractured by worry. Still, she watched me like I was a bomb about to detonate.

“I'm not reckless,”I'd snapped, the ceramic mug hot against my palms.

“You're angry,”she corrected.“And angry people make mistakes.”

The tea scalded my tongue as I took a defiant sip.“We're all angry.”

“But we're not all carrying Dimitri's child.”Her voice softened as she reached out, her fingers ghosting over my arm.“He would want you safe. Both of you.”

I set the mug down with more force than necessary, causing the tea to slosh over the rim.“He would want to be here. And everysecond we waste playing by their rules is another second he's not.”

“Aleksandr has connections?—”

---