Page 68 of Sinister Promise

Still, whatever we were about to uncover, I wanted that extra layer of protection between her and the rest of the world.

Kostya and Artem had been waiting a while.

As I passed through the penthouse's dining room, the air was still thick with smoke and the tangy, salty scent of caviar. The remnants of an earlier conversation still lingering, I wondered how much they had brought with them.

I strolled across the open living space, past the diningroom table that hadn't been cleaned. I made a mental note to myself to have the hotel housekeepers come and straighten up while I was here to ensure they didn't go into the master bedroom.

Or maybe I could put Alina in a closet with the hood on while the maid changed the sheets and scrubbed the bathroom. The last thing I needed was some nosy maid looking for shit to pawn to stumble across a naked woman in a sex dungeon hood.

That would cause more problems.

Hell, a maid seeing something she wasn't supposed to was what landed me in this mess in the first place.

I joined Artem and Kostya in the lounge, where the low hum of classical music played in the background, and the sunlight flowed in from the floor to ceiling windows, bathing the room in light.

Both of them were seated on leather couches, wearing custom fitted Brooks Brothers' suits and sipping from dainty porcelain cups, with a full English high tea set up on a cart next to them. They drank their tea while looking over the folders piled on the coffee table in front of them.

Just dignified businessmen having refreshments while looking over a new business proposal.

Fuck that shit.

Before sitting down and joining them in their oh-so-dignified display, I moved to the bar cart and poured myself a drink—vodka, Russian, smuggled, because fuck those tariffs—served neat.

I downed the first glass, the bite of it settling deep in my chest. I closed my eyes and savored the smooth burn, letting the familiar warmth settle me, before pouring asecond glass and gesturing toward the boxes on the coffee table. "Are these from Alina's apartment?"

Kostya nodded, his sharp blue eyes flicking up from the documents he was already sifting through. He drank the rest of his tea in a single pull and held out the delicate porcelain cup for me to fill with vodka.

I grabbed a few of the tea sandwiches from the tiered silver tray and brought the bottle of vodka to the table with me.

I hoped Marina knew she was never going to completely civilize Kostya, no matter what she tried. After spending a little time with my sister-in-law, I was starting to think she preferred him a little rough around the edges.

"The boys cleaned it out earlier." His tone was casual, but I knew better. If Kostya had taken an interest, it meant there was something worth finding. They were only supposed to gather everything and make me sift through it.

Part punishment, part responsibility.

The fact that they were still here meant something had caught their attention.

Artem, ever methodical, thumbed through a thick accordion file that seemed to contain financial documents, old receipts, and some legal paperwork, W-2s and the like.

His brows furrowed, his signature frustrated look.

"Not much here. Standard shit. Rent payments, bills, some past-due notices…" He flipped to another section, his expression darkening slightly. "But there's something interesting."

"Student loan debt from Georgetown," Kostya said, inspecting a printed-out schedule. "But she dropped out."

He pulled out a financial aid document, and I snatched it from his fingers.

He kicked a worn-looking bag toward me. Textbooks spilled from the opening.

I picked up the pile of well-used textbooks, skimming their broken and taped covers.

Law and economics.

I started pushing them back in the bag when I spotted something more personal—a stack of photographs wrapped in an elastic band.

Something twisted in my gut.

Personal items always revealed more than financial records ever could.

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