Page 13 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter twelve

The Truth Begins

A lexei

The next morning finds me in my study at dawn, staring at the encrypted files Viktor left behind three years ago.

I've tried to crack them dozens of times, working late into the night with every tool and contact I have. But Viktor was brilliant—the kind of mind that could build security systems I couldn't break even with unlimited resources.

Which is why I need his sister.

Mila appears in the doorway just as the sun starts to stream through the windows, carrying two cups of coffee and wearing one of my dress shirts over sleep shorts that show off her long legs.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asks, settling into the chair across from my desk.

"Too much to think about."

"Such as?"

I gesture to the laptop screen where Viktor's files mock me with their digital locks. "These. Your brother was paranoid about security—understandably, given what he discovered—but it means the information that could destroy Roman is locked away where I can't reach it."

She sets down her coffee and moves around to look over my shoulder. The casual way she touches my arm, leans against me, makes something warm unfurl in my chest. This easy intimacy we're building feels more precious than all the gold in my vaults.

"What have you tried?" she asks, studying the screen.

"Brute force attacks. Dictionary passwords. Every piece of personal information I know about him. Birth dates, anniversaries, pet names—"

"You're thinking like a criminal," she interrupts. "Viktor wasn't trying to keep out random hackers. He was trying to keep out people who knew him personally."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he wouldn't use obvious personal information. He'd use something abstract, something that only made sense to him." She settles onto my lap like it's the most natural thing in the world, and I have to fight not to let her proximity distract me from the task at hand.

"Tell me about him," she says. "Not the facts—the person. What did he care about? What made him laugh? What kept him up at night?"

The questions hit deeper than I expected. Viktor wasn't just my asset or my responsibility—for a brief time, he was something close to a friend.

"He cared about justice," I say slowly. "Not the legal kind, but the real kind. He hated seeing people get hurt by those with more power."

"Like what Roman was doing."

"Exactly. He also loved puzzles—the more complex, the better. Said they helped him think clearly."

"What kind of puzzles?"

"Mathematical theorems. Logic problems. He was always sketching out equations or number sequences in the margins of documents."

Mila's fingers start flying over the keyboard, pulling up code I can't begin to follow. "What else? Hobbies, interests, things he quoted?"

"Literature. Russian poets, mostly. Pushkin was his favorite."

"Pushkin..." She pauses, thinking. "Any specific poems?"

"Eugene Onegin. He quoted it constantly, said it captured something essential about the Russian soul."

"Do you remember any specific lines?"

I close my eyes, trying to recall Viktor's voice during our late-night conversations. "Something about habit being heaven's gift... how it takes the place of happiness."

"Habit is heaven's gift—it is a substitute for happiness," Mila murmurs, typing rapidly. "The original Russian would be..."

She works in focused silence for several minutes, trying different combinations of Cyrillic characters and mathematical sequences. I watch her fingers dance across the keys with the same grace she brought to our intimate moments last night.

"There," she breathes suddenly. "Got it."

The files decrypt like flowers blooming, revealing folder after folder of documents, recordings, and financial records. My breath catches as I realize what we're looking at.

"Jesus Christ."

"It's all here," Mila whispers. "Everything Viktor discovered about Roman's operation. Money laundering schemes, human trafficking routes, connections to corrupt officials..."

She clicks through the files, and my blood runs colder with each revelation. Roman's network is bigger than I imagined—tentacles reaching into legitimate businesses, government agencies, even law enforcement.

"This file," Mila says, opening a document marked with today's date. "It's addressed to me."

We read in silence as Viktor's words explain everything. How he discovered Roman's operation while doing routine security work. How he realized the scope of the corruption. How he tried to gather evidence to take to the FBI.

And how he knew, in his final days, that Roman was closing in on him.

Mila, the letter reads, if you're reading this, then the worst has happened and I'm gone. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth while I lived, but I was trying to protect you and our parents from this ugliness.

By now you've probably met Alexei Morozov. Trust him. I know how that sounds, given what you think you know about him, but he's the only one who tried to save me. He took a bullet meant for me, and he's been carrying guilt that isn't his to bear.

The truth is, Roman Volkov killed me because I was going to expose his operation to the FBI. I have enough evidence to destroy him, but only if someone with your skills can complete what I started.

Take care of yourself, little sister. And if you can find it in your heart, take care of Alexei too. He needs someone to remind him that he's more than the violence this world demands.

All my love, Viktor

The words hit me like physical blows. Viktor's forgiveness, his understanding, his final request that Mila take care of me—it's more absolution than I deserve.

I feel Mila's tears before I see them, warm drops landing on my hand where it rests on the desk.

"He knew," she whispers. "He knew you tried to save him."

"Mila—"

"All this time, I've been hating you for something you didn't do. Blaming you for his death when you nearly died trying to prevent it."

She turns in my lap to face me, and the pain in her dark eyes makes my chest ache. "Show me," she says quietly.

"Show you what?"

"The scar. From the bullet you took for him."

I hesitate, then pull off my shirt to reveal the puckered mark on my left shoulder. It's not pretty—a reminder of Roman's betrayal and my own failure to be fast enough.

Mila traces the scar with gentle fingers, and her touch sends electricity through me. "You never told me," she says.

"You never asked."

"I was so focused on hating you, I never thought to look for proof that you might be innocent."

"You had every reason to hate me. Your brother was dead, your family was in debt, and I was the most obvious target for your anger."

"But not the right target."

"No. Not the right target."

She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the scar, the gesture so tender it makes my throat tight with emotion. "I'm sorry," she whispers against my skin. "I'm so sorry for all the time I wasted hating you instead of trusting you."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"Don't I? You've been carrying this guilt for three years, and I made it worse by treating you like a monster."

I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Mila, listen to me. You responded exactly as anyone would have. You protected yourself the only way you knew how."

"By planning to destroy an innocent man."

"By being strong enough to survive." I brush away her tears with my thumbs. "That strength is what's going to help us destroy the man who actually killed your brother."

She leans into my touch, and I can see her processing everything we've learned. Viktor's letter, the scope of Roman's operation, the weight of evidence that could bring down a criminal empire.

"What do we do now?" she asks.

"Now we finish what Viktor started. We use this evidence to destroy Roman Volkov and everyone who helped him."

"The FBI—"

"Will be involved, but carefully. Roman has people inside law enforcement. We need to be strategic about who we trust."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, we prepare for war. Because when Roman realizes what we have, he's going to come for us with everything he's got."

The words should terrify her. Instead, I see determination settle in her expression like steel. "Good," she says fiercely. "Let him come. It's time someone made him pay for what he took from us."

The protective fury in her voice makes something primitive purr in my chest. This woman—this brilliant, brave, fierce woman—is ready to fight beside me. Ready to honor her brother's memory by finishing his work.

"There's something else," I say quietly. "Something I need you to understand before we go any further."

"What?"

"Once we start this, there's no going back. Roman will know you're involved, which means you'll be a target for the rest of your life. Even if we destroy him, his allies will remember. They'll want revenge."

"Are you trying to scare me into backing down?"

"I'm trying to make sure you understand what you're choosing."

She slides off my lap and moves to stand by the window, looking out at the gardens where morning light filters through the trees.

When she speaks, her voice is steady and sure.

"Three years ago, Roman Volkov murdered my brother and destroyed my family's life.

He's been free to hurt other people while I wasted time planning revenge against the wrong man.

" She turns back to me, and there's fire in her dark eyes.

"I'm not backing down. I'm finishing this. "

"Even knowing the cost?"

"Especially knowing the cost." The certainty in her voice makes my chest tight with pride and fear in equal measure. I'm proud of her courage, her loyalty to Viktor's memory, her willingness to fight for justice.

I'm also terrified of losing her to the violence that's coming.

"Then we do this together," I tell her. "Partners in everything."

"Partners.” She comes back to me, settling into my arms with the trust that still amazes me. Three days ago, she thought I was her enemy. Now she's willing to go to war beside me. "Alexei?" Her voice softens.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For trying to save him. For carrying that guilt when it wasn't yours to bear. For being the man Viktor trusted to take care of me."

"Mila—"

"For being worth choosing, even when I thought I was choosing my enemy."

The words hit me harder than any bullet ever has. She's thanking me for things I failed at, forgiving me for sins that feel unforgivable.

I kiss her then, pouring all of my gratitude and growing love into the connection between us. When we break apart, her eyes are soft and trusting and completely sure.

"So," she says with a smile that doesn't quite hide the lingering sadness. "Where do we start?"

I look at the screen full of Viktor's evidence, then at the woman who's become my everything in the space of three days.

"We start by making Roman Volkov very, very sorry he ever heard the name Morozov."