12. RADOMIR

Chapter 12

RADOMIR

The soft click of the estate’s front doors echoes behind me as Leigh walks silently at my side. She hasn’t said a word since we stepped out of the car, but I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves. Her gaze flickers around the sprawling foyer, taking in the soaring ceilings, the marble floors, and the crystal chandelier dripping from above.

“This way,” I say, my voice firm as I place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the grand staircase.

She stiffens under my touch but doesn’t pull away. Her lips press into a thin line, her posture stiff as she meets my gaze, not backing down but not quite challenging me either—she’s biding her time. She doesn’t think I know exactly what’s going on in her mind. The way her eyes dart slyly around the room suggests she’s looking for weaknesses.

At the top of the stairs, I lead her down a wide corridor lined with antique sconces and oil paintings of Russian landscapes—scenes of snow-covered forests and icy rivers that always remind me of my childhood home.

Leigh’s pace slows, her gaze lingering on one of the paintings, and for a moment, I wonder what she’s thinking. But I don’t ask. I can already feel her resistance, and I won’t give her the satisfaction of prying.

We reach the double doors to my bedroom— our bedroom . I push them open, revealing a space that’s as much a statement of power as it is a place to sleep.

The room is massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that flood it with light during the day and offer a view of the sprawling gardens below. A four-poster bed dominates the room, its dark wood polished to a gleaming finish and dressed with luxurious linens.

Leigh hesitates at the threshold, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Is this my room?” she asks, her tone sharp.

“This is our room,“ I correct, stepping aside to let her enter. Her gaze sharpens, but she crosses the threshold cautiously, like a cat entering unfamiliar territory. “Don’t worry, you’ll have your own space,” I say, gesturing to a smaller set of doors to the left of the bedroom. “Come.”

Her shoulders stiffen, but she follows me, her curiosity getting the better of her. I push open the doors to reveal a lavish sitting room, complete with a writing desk positioned by the windows, a chaise lounge upholstered in soft cream fabric, and a private balcony that overlooks the gardens. The room is bright and inviting, a stark contrast to the darker tones of the bedroom.

“This is for you,” I say, turning to face her. “A place where you can write, think, and be alone when needed.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but the look of surprise is fleeting, quickly replaced by suspicion. “Why?” she asks, her voice laced with mistrust. “Why would you do this for me when you’ve made it quite clear I have no privacy where you’re concerned?”

“I don’t recall saying that,” I murmur, reaching for the desk drawer to pull out the leather-bound songbook and hand it to her. “Because I know your writing is important to you, ptichka.”

Her eyes flicker to the book, then narrow as they dart back to me, her expression clouding over with outrage. “You’ve been through my things,” she accuses, snatching it from my hand. Her cheeks flush with anger.

“I wanted to understand you better,” I say, my voice low, the weight of my words hanging in the air between us. “Your songs are good, Leigh. I can see why you’d want to pursue music.”

Her eyes narrow. “How do you know about that?”

“Like I’ve told you, I make it my business to know,” I say simply. “And before you get any ideas, your belongings from your apartment have been put into storage. You don’t need them here.”

Her anger flares, her eyes flashing like green fire. “You had no right—“

I step closer, cutting her off. “Your life is my life now,” I say, firm and unyielding. “An open book to me. You can be angry if you want, but it doesn’t change anything. It will only make you miserable.”

Her breath catches as I take her chin in my hand, tilting her face up to mine. For a moment, the fight in her falters, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. I lean in, brushing my lips against hers in a kiss that’s both a promise and a warning. The taste of her stirs that dark primal instinct in me, a need that burns hotter every time I’m near her.

“I have business to attend to,” I say, my tone hardening slightly as I pull myself away from her. I can’t let myself get lost in her—there is much to do today. “You’re free to explore the house and the grounds,” I tell her. “But don’t do anything foolish. You won’t get far.” My words are a challenge, daring her to test me. Her jaw tightens, and I can see the wheels turning in her head, but she says nothing.

I point to a door next to the closet. “Through there is your own private bathroom and dressing room.” I give her a slight bow of my head. “I will see you later.”

I leave her standing in the center of the room, her songbook clutched tightly in her hands, and head to my office. Her scent lingers on my skin. It’s a constant reminder of the temptation I just walked away from.

When I enter the office, Viktor and Dolph are already waiting for me. Morning sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the heavy wood paneling and the large desk—an imposing centerpiece that has witnessed more deals, and more bloodshed, than I care to count.

“Who is watching Leigh for the day?” I move to my office chair.

“Fredrik’s on Leigh-watch duty for now,” Dolph reports. “I’ll take over later this afternoon.”

“Good.” I sit behind the desk, motioning for him to proceed. “What do you have for me?”

Viktor leans forward, sliding a folder across the desk. “Luca Fabri’s intel checks out. The Greek Special Forces are tracking Mark Dalton, but they’ve started asking questions about Leigh.”

His words land like a hammer. “How much do they know?”

“They didn’t have a face to match her name—until last night,” Viktor says grimly. “Daltons kept her one of his best-hidden secrets for years, but the chaos in the VIP room exposed her. Now they know what she looks like. It’s only a matter of time before they come for her—either to get to him or to see if she can lead them to whatever they think he’s hiding.”

“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair, tension coiling in my gut. “Cut Fabri and his men loose. The last thing we need is a Mafia war on top of this mess—especially when we don’t know the Greek matriarch’s endgame. There’s a reason her men are shadowing Dalton instead of taking him out. They’re waiting for him to lead them to something, somewhere—or someone.”

A chill runs through me, though I shove it down. I think I know exactly who that someone is. My stomach knots at the thought of what could have happened if my men hadn’t gotten to Leigh first last night.

The footage I reviewed earlier replays in my mind—the four Greek operatives slipping out of the poker room right after Leigh disappeared. No doubt they had their sights set on her.

The door opens, and Gavriil strides in, his expression grim.

“Oleksi’s not coming,” he says without preamble. “The Greek Special Forces hit our warehouses in L.A. last night. The Italians are taking heavy losses too.”

“Los Angeles, New York, Chicago,” Viktor adds, ticking off the list. “They’re targeting our strongest territories.”

“Are we the only ones being hit?” I demand, my tone cutting through the room. “What about the smaller syndicates?”

“So far, it’s just us,” Dolph replies. “But I’ll send out feelers, see if anyone else is in the crossfire.”

Gavriil leans back in his chair, his jaw tight. “This has to tie back to what happened ten years ago. Why else would the Greek matriarch resurface now and come after us?”

“Fabri’s intel and a prisoner’s ramblings are all we have to go on,” I say, teeth clenched as old memories claw their way to the surface. My father and uncle—their deaths still cast a long shadow. It’s too easy to make this about her, but I force myself to push the emotions aside. “We don’t know it’s her. Not yet.”

Mark Dalton’s cryptic warning about the sins of the fathers comes to mind. Regret gnaws at me for letting him walk out of my office last night. I should’ve had him locked in a cell and put Gunther on him. But Dalton’s an enigma, full of more secrets than anyone realizes. Breaking him wouldn’t be simple.

“Who else would it be?” Gavriil shoots back, his voice low and cold. “She resurfaces, and suddenly, we’re under fire. That’s no coincidence.”

“We were being attacked before we even knew she was back in America,” I counter, my words biting. “And we have nothing but rumors tying her to this.”

“You really think that means it wasn’t her?” Gavriil growls, his brow furrowing.

I slam my fist on the desk. “We don’t start wars blind.” My voice is lethal, slicing through Gavriil’s frustration. “No proof, no action. We move when we’re certain. And right now, we know jack shit.”

I turn to Viktor and Dolph. “Find out everything you can about the Greek Special Forces at the poker game last night. Names, movements, alliances. I want it all.”

“What makes you think they’re still in Vegas?” Viktor asks.

“A hunch,” I say, my voice dark. And my hunches are rarely wrong.

Gavriil stays behind after Viktor and Dolph leave to dig deeper into the Greek threat. He’s silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the dark wood of my desk.

“Why would she want them dead?” he asks finally, his voice low. “Our fathers! Why would the Greek bitch have them killed? What business did our fathers have with her?”

“That is what we need to find out.” My head turns toward the bookshelves that line the one wall of my home office. “It never made a lot of sense to me.” Standing, I walk toward them. Move one of the heavy Russian journals and press a small button. The bookshelf clicks open, and I pull it back. “Speaking of the Greek matriarch, I have something interesting to show you.”

Gavriil stands and follows me to the bookshelves. I pull a document from the hidden safe behind the bookshelf and hand it to him. His eyes widen as he reads, his grip tightening on the paper.

“Is this real?” he demands.

“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I can confirm that Vivienne Reynolds is Leigh’s mother. The other name on the document, Nikolas Vasilikis, is the son of Alexandra and Dante Vasilikis.”

“Do you think it’s the Greek matriarch?” Gavriil’s eyes widen, and he glances at the document, giving a low whistle. “So Vivienne was connected to the Greek bitch.”

“I believe so.” I nod. “I also found out that Nikolas died nineteen years ago. His body was found in his burnt-out car near an old farmhouse outside London.”

“Murder?” Gavriil asks, and I see he’s drawing the same conclusion I did when I found out about the man earlier this morning.

“Yes. It wasn’t the car fire that killed him. He had a bullet through the skull execution style.”

“Jesus, you don’t think that our fathers or Uncle Dmitri killed the Greek bitch’s son, do you?” Gavriil’s eyes widen. “The burnt-out car and bullet through the head is one of their signature calling cards.”

“Yes, it is one of Uncle Dimitri’s favorites.”

“If one of our fathers or Uncle Dmitri killed the Greek bitch’s son, that would explain the retaliation.” Gavriil’s eyes fall on the document again.

“I have no idea,” I say honestly. “We were kids back then.”

“Yeah, but your mother would know, and if we could find Uncle Dmitri…” Gavriil’s voice trails off.

Our uncle is not one of Gavriil’s favorite people. He has also been missing for almost five years and is presumed dead.

“As Oleksi has said, the scumbag uncle of ours is probably dead!”

“Roaches like him don’t die easily.” Gavriil’s eyes flash nastily. “I know I’d love to squash him like the bug he is beneath one of my boot heels.”

“We’ve all already agreed that if the prick resurfaces, you’re the one that gets to send him to hell.” I look at the document. “Would you be able to find out more about the hit on the Greek bitches son?”

“Of course.” Gavriil looks at the document in his hand once more. “Where did you get this document?” He looks at me questioningly.

“Mark Dalton.”

“The man’s a fucking grifter—a known liar and cheat,” Gavriil says, shaking the document. “This thing is probably not even real. He’s probably conning you.”

“I don’t think so. But that’s why I need you to check it out.” I tap the document. “According to Dalton, this is the only copy of the document and the certificate. I believe he called it a loaded gun with the most sensitive hair-triggers.”

“Oh, good. He landed us with precious cargo and a grenade ready to go off.” He flicks his hand over it. “This is probably what the Greek bitch’s goons are looking for. It was very clever of Dalton to palm this and his daughter off on you.”

A bitter taste filled my mouth. If Dalton was lying, he’d just dragged us into a storm that might tear us apart. But if he wasn’t… the truth might be ev“That’s why I need you to check it out. Maybe start by hunting down the attorney listed on the document.” I tap the letter head on top of the page. “You may also be able to ask Carla Craft. She obviously knows the Daltons well—I believe he visits Carla regularly!”

“Yes, they’ve been fucking like rabbits for years.” Gavriil nods. “Why don’t you come to the Ember tonight and we can talk to her together?”

“Sure, we can do that.” Taking the document back from Gavriil and locking it up safely once again. “You can’t let anyone, not even Oleksi or my mother know about that document.”

“I won’t tell them,” Gavriil promises. “I do need the number for GK Attorneys that drew up the document. I hope they are still around.”

“I’ll send it to your phone.”

“Do you think Leigh’s mother killed the son?” Gavriil looks at me questioningly. “And maybe our fathers somehow got caught up in the middle of it? Vivienne Dalton was a headliner at the Diamond Lounge for years and both of our fathers thought very highly of her.”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s something worth looking into. But if anyone killed Nikolas Vasilikis, my month would be on Mark.”

“Dalton?” Gavriil raises an eyebrow in disbelief.”

“He had a motive.”

“Yeah, but really?” Gavriil is not convinced.

“I think we all underestimate the man,” I warn Gavriil. “There’s something beneath that loser, down and out alcoholic exterior of his, and last night I saw it morph through more than once.”

“You think he’s dangerous?” Gavriil is surprised at my comment.

“I don’t think he’s dangerous, cousin—I know he is. More than we know.“ My brow furrows as a thought hits me. “But I do know someone other than Carla Craft who might know more about Dalton and that document.” My eyes narrow. “The man could’ve been fucking Nikolas’s wife, got caught, killed the man, then fled to Vegas to hide out.”

“The Greek bitch hunts him down in Vegas and comes for revenge,” Gavriil picks up my theory. “What is the connection to our fathers, though?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure, but I do know someone who would.”

Gavriil’s eyes narrow as they search mine. “Your mother!”

“Correct. When I questioned Dalton about the document’s authenticity, he told me to call my mother.”

“I always suspected Tetushka Galina knew more than she ever admitted about why our fathers were killed,” Gavriil remarks, his tone laced with lingering suspicion. “So I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew something about that document and if it is real how Dalton ended up with it.”

“You get on to finding the attorneys.” I move the bookshelves back into position. “I will call my mother later today. Let’s hope now that we’re under attack by the Greek bitch she’ll be ready to open up about ten years ago.”

“Does Leigh know about any of this?” He tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Not according to Dalton.”

“But you’re going to make sure?” Gavriil guesses

“I will find out,” I reply.

“I know you’re not going to want to hear this.” Gavriil’s voice drops. “We do have leverage now.”

My gut tightens at his words. I know he’s right, and if it comes down to it, I will do what is necessary. “That’s a last resort.”

Gavriil’s brows shoot up, and he looks at me in surprise. “Fuck, cousin!” A smug smile splits his face. “One night, and Leigh’s already gotten under your skin.” He pulls a face. “I warned you about free-spirited people.” He chuckles.

“Shut the fuck up, Gav,” my voice lowers dangerously as I glare at him. “I promised Dalton I’d protect her, and I keep my word—that’s all!”

“Whatever you say, cuz.” Gavriil lifts his hand, but the smile on his face says it all.

Ignoring his jibes, I return the conversation to the Greek bitch we’ve been after for ten years. “Be extra cautious when looking into the Vasilikis family. We don’t know for sure yet if Alexandra Vasilikis is the Greek matriarch. They are a very powerful family, and we don’t want to piss off someone who has entire militaries at their disposal and is practically royalty.”

“No, I don’t particularly want to go up against the military,” Gavriil replies. “You know I’ll use the utmost discretion. I know we can’t afford to make a wrong move.”

“I know. I can always count on you for that.” My mind flicks to images of Leigh, and my body instantly responds. I sit down behind the desk to regain control. Fuck. Gav’s right. She has gotten under my skin. I’m going to have to put space between us as I can’t afford the distraction right now.

“You’d better doubly secure the fortress, though.” Gavriil glances around the house. “Leigh has been trained by her father, so I’m sure she’s already casing the place and looking for ways to escape.”

“She won’t escape,” I cut him off. “I’ve already got Dolph and Fredrik making sure of it.”

But even as I say the words, a gnawing unease settles in my gut. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re teetering on the edge of a black hole, unable to see the bottom or what’s inside—and completely unprepared for what might come out.