Page 64 of Obsessed Bratva King

So I shove everything else aside. The protectiveness. The raw fucking emotion I don’t know what to do with. And I focus.

Vika cracks her knuckles and rolls her shoulders before diving back into the keyboard, her focus sharper now that the immediate danger has passed. “What are you smiling at?” Maxim asks.

“Now the fun begins,” she says. “Time to decrypt this motherfucker.”

She types furiously, her fingernails clicking against the keys. The glow of the screens paints her face in shades of blue and green, her pupils blown wide from too much caffeine.

Lines of code scroll in rapid succession, breaking through Darren’s pathetic attempts at encryption. “Feeble,” she says. “So basic.” She mutters something under her breath—a mixof Russian and profanity—then suddenly, she stills. “Almost there.”

The screen flashes.

Files flood in. Hundreds of them.

"We’re in."

Maxim and I both lean toward the screen.

And what I see makes my blood turn to ice.

Transactions. Names. Videos.

Records of sales, purchases—people being moved like cargo.

I feel it before I even look at Maxim. The shift in the air. The silence stretching taut.

"Jesus Christ," Maxim mutters, his voice flat, unreadable. “It’s their entire fucking empire.”

Vika’s lips press into a thin line as she scrolls through the files. Money transfers, offshore accounts, surveillance footage. And then?—

A video feed.

She hesitates. Then clicks it open.

A security camera recording flickers to life. A dimly lit warehouse. Cages. People inside them.

I stare at the grainy footage, my jaw tightening. The date stamp is from last week.

"This isn’t just smuggling," Maxim says under his breath. "It’s a full-scale trafficking network."

My hands curl into fists.

The footage keeps playing. I don’t recognize the warehouse—but I recognize one of the men walking past the cages.

Darren.

His face is smug, arrogant. He thinks he’s untouchable.

He won’t be for long.

"Guessing Vlad dug into his systems," Vika says as she clicks through more files. “Shoved it all on here. No wonder Darren wants it back.”

She starts scrolling, opening more files. Emails. Bank transactions.

Then, she stops. Her lips part slightly, a slow, dawning realization overtaking her expression.

"Oh, fuck."

My eyes flick to the screen.

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