Page 31 of Scarlet Thorns
Under scalding water, with steam filling the marble-tiled space, I’d wrapped my hand around my cock and let myself remember. Her lips parting when she saw me. The heat of her skin when I touched her cheek. The way she looked at me like I was salvation instead of damnation.
I came harder than I had in months, biting my knuckles to keep from making noise that would wake my pregnant wife. The guilt hit immediately after— sharp, acidic, the kind that burns your throat and leaves you hollow.
But even the guilt couldn’t erase the memory of her voice, the magnetic pull I felt sitting across from her in that candlelit room.
Now I’m here at my office, trying to focus on legitimate business while my thoughts are consumed by a woman whose name I’ll never know. A woman who trusted me with secrets she probably hasn’t shared with anyone else.
My secure phone buzzes against the mahogany desk, and I snatch it up. Radimir’s name flashes on the screen.
“What do you have for me?”
“Blyad, Osip.” My younger brother’s voice carries exhaustion and something sharper— anger mixed with disbelief. “I’ve been digging through financial records all night. This is worse than we thought.”
I lean forward, forcing my attention away from red velvet and lace masks. “How much worse?”
“Shiradze isn’t just skimming— he’s built an entire parallel operation. I’m talking about theft going back at least three years, maybe longer.” The sound of rapid typing echoes through the phone. “You know how methodical I am with data,da? Well, this fucker has been methodical too.”
Radimir talks fast when he’s excited or angry, his words tumbling over each other like machine-gun fire. Of my two brothers, he’s the one who lives inside computers and server farms, more comfortable with code than conversation. But when he finds something that pisses him off, he becomes eloquent in his rage.
“Give me specifics,” I growl.
“Remember the Kowalski couple from Hartford? Shiradze told us they changed their minds, remember? Well guess what— they paid four hundred thousand for twin boys through ‘Dr. Shiradze’s private practice’. We never saw a kopeck of that money. According to our books, that placement never happened.”
My jaw tightens. “Keep going.”
“The Richmond family in Newport— three hundred fifty thousand for a healthy newborn girl. The Castellanos in Manhattan— five hundred thousand for what they were told was a rare ‘expedited placement.’ All of them think they dealt exclusively with Igor’s medical practice. None of them even heard the name Sidorov.”
Each revelation builds the anger inside me. Igor hasn’t just been stealing money— he’s been stealing clients, building his own empire while using our infrastructure and connections.
Yobani Urod!
“How many clients total?”
“That I can confirm? Fourteen major transactions in the past eighteen months alone. We’re talking about seven milliondollars that never touched our accounts, Osip. Seven fucking million.”
The number reverberates through my skull like artillery fire. Seven million dollars. Enough to run our entire operation for years or to buy off half the police department. Money that should have been split between our partnership, used to expand operations, shared according to the agreements we all signed.
“But here’s the beautiful part,” Radimir continues, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. “Thesukais still taking his cut from our legitimate transactions. So he’s getting paid twice— once from us for the work we know about, and again from his private clients for the work we don’t.”
“The medical records?”
“Forged. He’s using real birth certificates and legal documents, but routing everything through shell companies that don’t exist on paper. Very sophisticated operation. If I didn’t know what to look for, I never would have found it.”
I close my eyes, processing the scope of Igor’s betrayal. This isn’t opportunistic theft— it’s strategic warfare. While I protected him from the violent realities of our business, while I handled enforcement and collection and all the ugly necessities that kept our operation running, he was building a competing empire using my own resources.
“The contacts?” I ask. “How is he finding these clients?”
“Hospital networks, fertility clinics, private practices. He’s got legitimate medical credentials, remember? He can walk into any elite medical facility and start conversations with desperate couples. Meanwhile, we’re stuck dealing with back-alley introductions and word-of-mouth referrals.”
The strategy is brilliant in its simplicity. Igor presents himself as the respectable face of adoption services while I remain the criminal in the shadows. Clients trust him becausehe’s Dr. Igor Shiradze, respected gynecologist, not some Russian gangster with blood on his hands.
“There’s more,” Radimir says quietly. “I found communications with lawyers, accountants, even a contact at Child Protective Services. This isn’t just about money,brat. He’s building infrastructure to completely bypass our operation.”
K chertu ublyudka!
Igor isn’t just stealing from me— he’s positioning himself to eliminate me entirely. Once his network is established, once he has enough clients and resources, he won’t need Osip Sidorov anymore.
“What about Stanley’s accusations?” I ask.
