Page 87 of Bratva Bride
The conversation continued—discussion of explosive placement, evacuation routes, making sure the damage was "significant but not catastrophic." Enough to destabilize the alliance. Not enough to trigger immediate all-out war.
"There's more," Dr. Held said, his voice carrying the weight of worse news coming.
The financial records came next. Shell companies, offshore accounts, cryptocurrency conversions—all the modern methods of hiding blood money.
"Payments from Kozlov holdings to a consulting firm that traces back to Andrei Morozov," Held explained, highlighting specific transfers. "Look at the timeline."
I leaned forward, the pattern crystalizing immediately. The payments started small six months ago—regular consultingfees, nothing suspicious. But they spiked dramatically the week before my wedding to Anya. Doubled the day after the ceremony. Another massive payment two days before the bombing.
"He knew," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Viktor knew the bombing was coming."
"At minimum, his nephew was facilitating it," Alexei agreed. "At worst—"
"At worst, he orchestrated the whole thing." The picture formed in my mind with horrible clarity. "Marry Anya to us for the alliance. Let Kozlov destabilize it with the bombing. Use the violence as an excuse to reclaim her, along with extra territory. He used his own daughter as bait."
The silence that followed was heavy with shared understanding. We'd all done terrible things in this life. Violence, extortion, actions that would horrify normal people. But using your own child as a chess piece in a game that could have killed her—that was something else entirely.
"The marriage was never about peace," I continued, my voice eerily calm as the pieces clicked together. "It was about positioning. Viktor gains either way—if the alliance holds, he has leverage through Anya. If it fails, he reclaims her and can auction her off to the highest bidder later."
"Fucking bastard," Dmitry snarled, his fist connecting with the wall hard enough to leave a dent. "She's his daughter. His fucking daughter."
"She's his asset," I corrected, remembering Viktor's exact words from the Council meeting. "That's all she's ever been to him."
Dr. Held pulled up more documents—phone records, surveillance logs, communication patterns. The evidence was overwhelming when assembled together. Andrei Morozov had met with Kozlov operatives multiple times. Money had flowed from Kozlov accounts to Morozov-adjacent businesses. Thebombing had been planned with inside knowledge only someone in Viktor's position could provide.
"This proves the marriage should stand," I said, already running through the legal implications. "Article Seven doesn't apply if the father participated in the threat. External sabotage with internal facilitation—the Code is clear on this."
"We present this to the Council," Alexei agreed. "Emergency session. Force them to reverse the ruling."
"Tomorrow morning," Mikhail suggested. "We can have packages prepared for each family, make the evidence undeniable."
But something nagged at me. Viktor wasn't stupid. He had to know we'd investigate, had to know the financial trails existed. Which meant either he was confident we'd never find them, or—
"He's going to claim ignorance," I realized. "Say Andrei acted alone. Throw his own nephew under the bus to maintain his position."
"Let him try," Dmitry growled. "The evidence—"
"The evidence proves Andrei's involvement clearly. Viktor's is more circumferential." I pulled up the files again, looking for the smoking gun that wasn't quite there. "He's maintained plausible deniability. Careful bastard."
Alexei's expression darkened. "Then we need Anya's testimony. She knows her father's operations better than anyone. She might have seen or heard something that connects him directly."
Anya. Who was currently locked in her father's house, beyond our reach, probably being systematically broken down to ensure she'd never testify against him.
"Speaking of Anya," Held cleared his throat. "You asked me to establish surveillance on the Morozov estate."
"You have something?" My voice came out strangled.
"Audio recordings. Conversations. Evidence of how Miss—Mrs. Volkov is being treated." He pulled out a tablet, fingers flying across the surface. "The source made contact an hour ago. They've already provided some initial intelligence."
"Play it," I demanded.
Held hesitated. "Mr. Volkov, some of this content is... disturbing."
"Play. It."
He touched the screen, and Viktor's voice filled the war room, clear despite the obvious concealment of the recording device:
"—need to understand that your judgment has been compromised. This 'Daddy' degeneracy, these infantile behaviors—this is what happens when I'm not here to provide proper structure."
