Page 46 of Tattooed Heart

He kisses me softly and pulls me closer to his side. Outside the sanctuary of the bedroom, I know reality waits. There are still enemies to face and dangers to overcome. Dimitri's world will always carry risks, complications, and threats. But for now, at this moment, there is only his heartbeat beneath my ear, his child growing inside me, and the promise of a future neither of us has dared to dream of before.

15

DIMITRI

Aleksandr's office smells like old wood, leather, and gun oil. Scents I didn’t realize I missed until I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. That familiar combination takes me back to years gone by, to moments of significance and consequence that shaped my life within the Bratva. The aroma has become synonymous with power and decisions that alter fates.

The room is dim, lit only by the morning light pushing in through tall windows and the golden lamp on the corner of his desk. Thick drapes hang heavily against the windows, blocking the outside world from peering in. Shelves lined with rare books and locked drawers holding Bratva secrets stand as silent witnesses to countless plans and verdicts.

Aleksandr sits behind the desk, jacket off, cuffs rolled neatly to his forearms. His posture is straight, his shoulders broad, and he exudes authority without effort. He doesn’t look up right away. He is focused on the file he is reading. His expression reminds me of our childhood, how he studied chess moves with that same intensity, plotting several steps ahead.

Lev stands near the corner, scrolling through surveillance photos on his phone, a cigarette unlit between his fingers. He glances up as I enter, nodding once. It is the only acknowledgment I need. In our world, words are often unnecessary.

I walk in and take the chair across from Aleksandr. The leather creaks beneath me, familiar and comforting in its own way.

I study my brother as he finishes whatever document holds his attention. Prison didn’t change me as much as it refined me, burning away the unnecessary parts. I wonder if he notices the difference. The hardened edges and newfound patience that come with counting days and nights in a cell. My newly dyed black hair is the most visible transformation. The blonde locks I had my entire life are gone. It is a deliberate choice I made the day after my release. A physical manifestation of how prison altered me to my core.

Aleksandr finally sets the file down and looks up, his cold blue eyes locking on mine. “You ready?” he asks simply.

“I'm ready,” I reply.

His gaze holds mine for a moment longer, assessing and measuring. His eyes linger on my black hair, taking note of the transformation.

“The hair,” he comments, his tone neutral but curious.

I run a hand through the dark strands. “Blonde was for the man who got framed. Black is for the man who's coming back to burn it all down.”

Aleksandr's eyes gleam with approval. Then he leans back in the chair, steepling his fingers. “Good. Because this war is shifting. We don't respond like thugs. We respond like kings.”

There is something in his voice, a calm certainty that has always made people listen. It isn’t volume or aggression but absolute conviction. The voice of a man who knows the value of each word spoken.

Lev tosses a folder onto the desk. The sound of paper hitting wood punctuates the silence. “The thread we needed. Petrov's payments came through Valkyr Logistics. One of his shell fronts tied to Morozov's holding company in Geneva. We confirmed the dates. The money moved three days before the witness came forward.”

I feel a surge of pride thinking about Sandy and how she had unraveled what others couldn't see. Her intelligence had proven invaluable, and her determination matched our own. But I keep my face blank. There will be time for personal reflections later.

Aleksandr's mouth curves into something that’s not quite a smile. It is the expression of a predator who has cornered its prey after a long hunt. “Petrov didn't just build the lie. He funded the entire play.”

“And Russo packaged it,” I add, leaning forward slightly. “Gave it to the feds wrapped in a bow.” The pieces finally connect, forming a picture of betrayal and calculated moves against our family.

Aleksandr nods. “Russo’s been dancing between both sides for years. Feeding Morozov intel while pretending to keep our enemies at bay. But now we have proof. Not just whispers and suspicion.”

The revelation isn’t entirely surprising but having confirmation changes everything. Suspicion can be ignored, but evidence demands action. And action is what the Bratva does best.

Lev taps his phone screen and turns it toward me. “Russo was spotted leaving a private club near Brighton Beach. He met with Kiril the same night Petrov transferred money to that numbered account.”

I look at the grainy surveillance photo. With his off-the-rack suit and politician smile, Russo shakes hands with Kiril, a man known for breaking bones and burying bodies. The picture tells a thousand words, none of them innocent.

Aleksandr leans forward slightly. His voice doesn’t rise. It never does when he is serious. That is what makes it so lethal. “This is not just corruption. This is a coordinated attack on my family. They didn't just target you. They tried to dismantle the foundation of everything we've built. And they did it with the arrogance of men who think I won't cut their throats in broad daylight.”

I meet his gaze, steady and cold. “Then let's start with Petrov.”

Aleksandr inclines his head. “Exactly.”

He pulls out another file, which is thinner but more telling. His fingers, adorned only with the gold family ring on his right hand and his wedding band on his left, spread the contents across the polished surface of the desk. “He goes to the Hawthorne Club every Thursday. Same booth. Same waiter. Same bullshit sense of immunity. You're going to take that from him.”

The photographs show Petrov entering the exclusive club and being greeted with smiles and handshakes. He is accustomed tothe respect he hasn’t earned, a man who believes money can shield him from consequences.

Lev steps forward and slides a blueprint across the desk. “Side alley leads to a service corridor. We'll tap into the back security feed and disable the camera loop for thirty minutes. That's your window.”

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