Page 95 of Bratva Bidder

My father’s face flickers through memory—calculating, cruel. If he’s letting Roman orchestrate surveillance, this is more than a flex. It’s a first chess move.

“He’s planning something,” I mutter.

“Your old man or Roman?”

“Roman’s the blade,” I say. “Dmitry’s the hand that guides it.”

Lev’s jaw sets. “Orders?”

“Track Anatoly, quietly. Anyone he meets, any phone calls, I want logs. And pull every scrap on Roman’s recent cash flow—who’s funding his play.”

Lev gathers the prints, tucks them under one arm. “On it. Anything else?”

My gaze flicks to the hallway that leads back to the twins’ room, to two small heartbeats that now matter more than everyempire I’ve ever built. “Yes. Double the perimeter at the estate. If Roman thinks he can test my walls, I want him to meet teeth, not bricks.”

Lev’s smirk returns, wider this time. “Understood, boss. Fatherhood may suit you, but war’s still your best color.”

Lev and I are still going over the second set of surveillance photos when I hear the faint sound of heels in the hallway. The door creaks open, and Nadya steps inside.

I straighten instinctively.

Lev shuts up mid-sentence, glancing at me with a raised brow, reading my body language. I don’t say anything, but he clearly hears the message:We’re done talking about certain things.

Nadya’s eyes dart between us, then down to the papers spread across the desk. She walks in like she’s not expecting permission.

“You’re planning something,” she says. “And since it might involve my children’s safety, maybe don’t keep me on the outside.”

I don’t respond. Neither does Lev.

She plants her hands on the edge of the desk. “If we’re going to work together, you’ve got to trust me.”

Lev shoots me a sidelong glance, like he’s saying,You’re seriously letting her in on this?His mouth doesn’t move, but his expression is louder than most men shouting.

I say nothing for a moment, jaw ticking. Then: “She’s right.”

Lev huffs under his breath but shifts aside, making room for her to step between us.

“Anatoly Melnic,” I say, tapping the photo. “Scarred face. Tied to Roman.”

“Your brother,” she says.

“Half brother and not by choice,” I say ominously.

She taps Anatoly’s picture. “I saw him watching the street. He wasn’t just backup. He was leading.”

“She’s not wrong,” Lev mutters.

She’s calm in the way people are after they’ve been through fire and know they can survive it.

Her finger pauses on a second man. “This one. He looked familiar.”

“Ex-Buryakov enforcer,” Lev supplies. “Got dropped from payroll two years ago—quietly. No one knows why.”

“My father probably knows,” I mutter.

“You think Dmitry’s testing Roman?” Nadya asks, glancing sideways at me. “Or pushing him?”

I nod once. “That’s how he’s always played us. Dangles power. Sits back to see who tears the other apart for it.”