Page 30 of Tattooed Heart

“We've got something,” he announces without preamble. “The paralegal found transactions. Regular payments from an offshore account to both Russo and Judge Hargrove.”

My heart leaps, coffee forgotten. “Can we trace it back to Petrov? To Morozov?”

“Not directly,” he admits. “But the timing coincides perfectly with Dimitri's arrest. And there's more. Emails between Petrovand the judge discussing the case in detail, weeks before charges were even filed.”

I stand so quickly that my chair nearly topples. “That's it then! That's enough to get the case thrown out, isn't it?”

Aleksandr's expression is cautious, but I can see hope burning behind his eyes. “It's enough to demand a review. Peter's already drafting the motion. If all goes well, we could have Dimitri home within days.”

Days.The word rings in my ears like a bell, beautiful and terrifying all at once. After weeks of hell, after nights of crying myself to sleep with my hand over my growing belly, Dimitri can be home in days.

“I want to see the evidence,” I decide, my voice steadier than I feel. “All of it. I want to know exactly what we're working with.”

Aleksandr studies me for a moment, then nods. “In my office. Fifteen minutes.”

As he turns to leave, I call after him, “Aleksandr?”

He pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “For not giving up on him.”

A shadow crosses his face, deep and painful. “He's my brother,” he says simply. Then he is gone, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Talia squeezes my hand once more before letting go. “See? Progress.”

I nod, the first genuine smile in weeks, tugging at my lips. “Progress,” I echo. “Finally.”

As I head for the office, my hand instinctively finds its way to my stomach again, cradling the small life within. “Did you hear that, little one?” I whisper. “Daddy's coming home.”

For the first time since Dimitri had been taken from us, I allow myself to believe it might be true. We are so close I can almost feel him beside me again, his arms around me, his voice in my ear promising that everything will be alright. And this time, I won’t stop until that promise becomes reality.

10

DIMITRI

I know he is watching me before I even see him.

You learn fast here to pay attention to the quiet ones who don't puff their chests or bark threats. The ones who wait and calculate. In prison, it's never the loudest predator that gets you. It's the patient one.

He can’t be older than twenty-one. Lean and sharp-boned with a couple tattoos that don’t match his age or the stories he's lived. His eyes are like dead glass, flat and unreadable. The look that comes an instant before a blade slips between your ribs.

He leans against the wall across from my cell, arms folded, mouth twitching like he is on the verge of either grinning or lunging. His prison jumpsuit hangs too loose on his frame, which doesn’t make him less dangerous. Sometimes, the hungry ones are the most lethal.

I don’t move from where I sit on the edge of my bunk. Just meet his stare, my face a blank mask I perfected long before I ever stepped foot in this hellhole.

“You're Avilov's brother,” he remarks, voice low and casual.

I stay silent. Here, words are currency I can’t afford to spend, especially not on someone clearly sent to test my defenses.

His fingers tap against his bicep—one, two, three—a restless rhythm that betrays his youth despite his practiced stillness. A wolf pup trying to wear an old wolf's patience.

He smiles or tries to. It looks more like a crack splitting his face. “Lot of people in here owe favors. Lot of people who'd like to cash in.”

Still, I say nothing. Because I don’t need to. We both know what he means.

Aleksandr built his empire on broken bones and blood debts. Some of those debts belong to men locked up with me. Others are owed to men who’d slit my throat just to hurt my brother.

The kid tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle. Maybe he expects fear. Maybe anger. He isn’t getting either.

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