Page 29 of Tattooed Heart

A soft knock at the door draws my attention. “Come in,” I call, pulling the blankets higher.

Lev enters, his massive frame making the doorway seem smaller than it is. Unlike Aleksandr, who wears his power like a second skin, Lev carries his strength with a quiet dignity that is somehow just as intimidating. He looks like he’s been awake for hours, his shirt crisp, his expression alert.

“Morning,” he greets, crossing to the window, where he stands, looking out rather than directly at me. It's a small courtesy that I appreciate in my disheveled state. “I thought you'd want to know we've started following up on your evidence.”

I sit up straighter, instantly awake. “And?”

“The recording has been analyzed. It's clean with no signs of tampering or editing. Peter had copies made and secured in multiple locations.” He turns slightly, his profile silhouetted against the morning light. “As for the photos, they've been enhanced. We can clearly identify both Petrov and Kiril. The envelope is visible, though we can't determine its contents.”

Hope stirs in my chest, fragile but persistent. “What about the money trail? Have you?—”

“We secured someone inside Petrov's office,” he cuts in, turning to face me fully. “A paralegal who's on our payroll now. She's going to access his financial records today.”

My breath hitches. “That's...that's good, right? If we can prove the payments?—”

“If,” Lev emphasizes, his expression guarded. “It's still a significant ‘if,’ Sandy. Men like Petrov don't typically leave paper trails.”

I push the covers aside, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “But they make mistakes. Everyone does. Especially when they think they're untouchable.”

A ghost of a smile touches Lev's lips. “Yes, they do.” He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Aleksandr wanted me to remind you of your promise. No more sneaking out.”

“I remember,” I mutter, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. “I'm effectively under house arrest.”

“You're under protection,” he corrects. “There's a difference.”

I sigh, rubbing my temple where a headache is beginning to form. “What am I supposed to do, now? Just sit here and wait? I'll go crazy.”

“You'll help us from here,” he says simply. “You have a good eye. You took those photos. You got Russo talking when our people couldn't get near him.” He taps his finger against the door frame in a rare show of hesitation. “Use that mind of yours. Just do it where we can keep you safe.”

After he leaves, I sit there in silence, his words echoing in my mind. I might be confined to the estate, but that doesn’t meanI’m powerless. I have a laptop, a phone, and a will that refuses to break. I have the fierce, burning love for Dimitri that has driven me this far. And I have a promise to keep to our child that they will know their father, not just in stories but in flesh and blood, in arms that will hold them and a voice that will soothe them.

I shower quickly, washing away the last traces of last night, and dress in comfortable jeans that still fit over my growing bump and a soft sweater that Dimitri once said brings out the blue in my eyes.

When I enter the kitchen, Talia is gently spooning mashed bananas into Angelina's mouth. My niece’s face lights up the second she sees me, her tiny hands shooting into the air, fingers wiggling, cheeks dimpled with delight as she babbles excitedly. The pure, unfiltered joy on her face hits me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, warm, healing, and exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

Sasha and Maxim sit at the table halfway through their breakfast, offering cheerful mumbles of “Good morning,” around mouthfuls of eggs.

“Where’s Aleksandr?” I ask, wrapping my hands around the warm mug Abram passes to me. I’m grateful for the coffee's comfort and the brief distraction it offers.

“On the phone in his office,” Talia answers. “He's been in there since dawn.”

I nod, sipping the coffee slowly, savoring the warmth and the bitter tang. “Any word on the case? Lev said they're following up on my evidence.”

Talia glances toward the doorway, checking to ensure we are alone, then lowers her voice. “Lev has someone inside Petrov's office. They're looking for financial records.”

“He told me that much,” I grumble. “But what about the judge? If he's as corrupt as Peter thinks?—”

“They're working on that too,” she assures me, her eyes softening. “I know you want to be in the middle of everything, but sometimes the best thing you can do is step back and let Aleksandr handle it.”

“That's what everyone keeps telling me,” I mutter, staring into my coffee cup. “I just feel so useless sitting here.”

Talia reaches across the table, her hand finding mine. “You're growing Dimitri's child,” she says gently. “That's not nothing.”

I squeeze her hand, grateful for the reminder. “I know. I just wish I could do more.”

“You've already done more than you should have,” she says, a hint of rueful pride in her voice.

Before I can respond, the kitchen door swings open. Aleksandr strides in, his phone clutched in one hand, his expression tight with excitement.

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