Page 64 of Bratva Bidder

He’s not the only one who knows how to carve up an empire.

I’m halfway through reviewing another list of dock clearances when I hear the gravel shift outside.

Lev’s boots.

He walks in like he owns the place—tired, slightly rumpled, but eyes raking in everything. He doesn’t waste time.

“So I’ve been looking into her past. She spent a considerable amount of her late teens and early twenties at various locations in Europe with her extended family. In fact, she was in Barcelona the same time you were six years ago.”

“Well, we never crossed paths so that’s not important,” I say. “Tell me something worthwhile.”

“I did find something that happened more recently,” he says, dropping a file on the table with a soft thud.

I stare at it. “Go on.”

“She received a sizable transfer three days ago. From a personal account—guy named Vadim Polzin. Low profile, but tied to a gambling ring in Brighton Beach.”

“She didn’t keep the money,” Lev continues. “It was wired out within the hour to someone else. Name on the transfer was Irina Valenkova.”

That name is foreign to me.

“Who’s Irina?” I ask.

Lev lifts a shoulder. “Best we could find, she’s not tied to Bratva. No priors, no paper trail. Civilian address. And get this—she works as a private caretaker.”

“Caretaker?”

“Yeah. Lives in a modest apartment across town. No red flags, no affiliations. But this Irina’s number shows up in Nadya’s call logs almost daily.”

“Is that all?”

Lev hesitates. “No.” I look up at him. “There’s more.” He crosses his arms, jaw flexing. “The night she ran from the rooftop party, we tracked her GPS briefly before it went dark. She stopped near a children’s hospital. Didn’t stay long. Less than a few hours. But that’s where she went.”

A beat of silence.

I rise from my chair slowly. “Tell me the name of the hospital.”

Lev doesn’t flinch. “Crescent Memorial Hospital. It’s pediatric care.”

“I want everything you can find on Irina Valenkova,” I say, voice like glass. “Where she lives. Who she works with. And I want to know why Nadya went to that hospital.”

Lev nods. “You think…she’s hiding something? A lover perhaps?”

His question grates at my skin. I don’t answer.

I’m already moving. “We’re going to find out soon enough.”

15

NADYA

I don’t knowhow many hours I’ve been here. The light outside has shifted from silver to orange to gray.

I barely noticed.

I sit in the hospital chair, legs cramping, back sore—but I don’t move. Nikolai’s hand is small in mine, his skin still a little clammy from the fever, but his breathing is steady now. Shallow, but steady.

I hold on to that.