Page 3 of Crystal Veil (Rostov Bratva #2)

I press my thumb against the biometric scanner hidden in what appears to be a decorative carving on the desk.

The lock clicks open with a soft mechanical whisper.

Inside the hidden compartment, I retrieve a slim silver USB drive and cross to the wall-mounted display screen concealed behind what looks like an oil painting of the Russian countryside.

The screen flickers to life as I insert the drive, flooding the room with harsh blue light.

Surveillance maps cascade across the display in layers.

Floor plans of Jackson Memorial Hospital.

Badge access logs show every authorized entry and exit.

Camera feeds with timestamps marking exactly when and where our mysterious nurse appeared and disappeared.

“Only two people knew the complete security profile for Nick Anderson's wing,” I continue, pointing to specific areas on the map. “Only two people had access to Elena's exact location and the timing of her visit. Me. And Sergey.”

Roman's breath hisses out between his teeth like steam from a boiling kettle. Viktor mutters a string of Russian curses that would make a sailor blush.

“I'm not making accusations without proof,” I clarify, though every instinct I possess screams that Sergey is guilty. “But I'm not ignoring the obvious either. The evidence points in one direction, and that direction leads straight to my second-in-command.”

“What do you need us to do?” Viktor asks, pushing himself away from the doorframe. His hand automatically drifts toward the gun concealed beneath his jacket. It's an unconscious gesture that shows how seriously he's taking this threat.

I turn away from the screen, facing both men directly. “We're setting a trap. Something elegant. Something that will give us definitive proof one way or another.”

Their eyes gleam with understanding. Roman cracks his knuckles, the sound like breaking bones. Viktor's smile turns predatory.

“We leak information about a shipment. Illegal arms arriving at dock forty-two Tuesday night.

High-value cargo that would be irresistible to someone like Bennato.

Only two people will know about this fictional shipment: me and Sergey.

If that dock gets hit, if Bennato's men show up looking for weapons that don't exist, we'll know exactly who fed him the intelligence.”

Roman nods slowly, his strategic mind already working through the possibilities. “And if he doesn't take the bait? If nothing happens Tuesday night?”

“Then we keep digging. But I don't think it will come to that. Sergey isn't subtle when he's angry, and he's been angry for months. Jealous. Resentful. He thinks I don't notice the way he looks at me sometimes, like he's measuring me for a coffin.”

“Bianca,” Viktor mutters, understanding flooding his expression.

My jaw tightens at the mention of her name.

The beautiful Italian who used to warm my bed, thinking that gave her ownership rights to my heart.

“She warned me a week ago. I thought she was just trying to drive a wedge between me and Sergey and create chaos she could exploit. But maybe she was telling the truth for once in her manipulative life.”

Roman stands, his movements controlled despite his size. “We'll keep our eyes on him. Track his communications, his movements, his contacts. You just focus on getting Elena somewhere safe. Somewhere even Bennato can't reach.”

They file out of the library, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the sting of betrayal coiling around my shoulders like barbed wire.

I pour another vodka and stare at the surveillance maps still glowing on the wall screen.

Red dots mark camera positions. Blue lines trace security patrol routes.

Green areas indicate safe zones. But none of it means anything if the threat comes from within.

I drain the glass and head for the upper wing of the estate. My bedroom smells faintly of the lavender oil the housekeeping staff uses to scent the linens. But beneath that pleasant fragrance lurks something sharper, more acrid. My own fury. My guilt over letting Elena get so close to death.

She doesn't belong in this world of violence and betrayal. She's a journalist, for Christ's sake. Her weapons are words and principles, not bullets and blood. But she's in my world now, pulled into the darkness by proximity to me.

And because I failed to see the enemy standing right beside me, she nearly didn't walk out of that hospital alive.

I move into my office, a smaller room adjacent to the bedroom that serves as my private command center. The walls are lined with monitors showing feeds from security cameras throughout the estate. A bank of encrypted phones sits on the desk, each one a direct line to different aspects of my empire.

I select the phone with the red handset and dial a number that doesn't exist in any directory, connecting to no traceable location. After three rings, a woman answers with a crisp Russian accent.

“Magdalena.”

“Clean the villa,” I instruct without preamble. “Full deep clean. Medical staff on standby, complete emergency suite. Stock the kitchen, check all security systems, test the communication arrays. No questions asked, no records kept. We arrive tomorrow evening.”

She confirms the orders and disconnects without asking for details she doesn't need to know. Magdalena has worked for my family since before I was born. She understands the value of discretion and the cost of curiosity.

The coastal property is my deepest secret, a slice of hidden paradise tucked along a remote stretch of shoreline north of Miami.

No official records connect it to me or any of my legitimate businesses.

No addresses exist in any database. The deed is buried under so many layers of shell companies and offshore trusts that even the most dedicated investigator would need years to trace it back to me.

It's the perfect hiding place. A fortress disguised as a vacation retreat.

Elena will hate it, of course. She'll call it another cage, another attempt to control her life and limit her freedom.

She'll rage about being kept like a prisoner, about missing her work and worrying her friends.

But I don't care about her anger or her resentment.

I'd rather she curse my name from behind impenetrable walls than have her blood on my hands.

I walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the estate grounds.

Moonlight slashes across the manicured lawns like silver blades, creating patterns of light and shadow that shift with the movement of clouds overhead.

The swimming pool glows turquoise in the darkness, its surface disturbed only by the gentle breeze that rustles through the palm fronds.

Somewhere in this sprawling compound, Sergey is in his quarters. Maybe nursing a drink while he reviews tomorrow's schedule. Maybe making encrypted phone calls to coordinate whatever treachery he has planned next. Maybe even laughing at how easily he fooled the man who once called him brother.

But Tuesday night will tell the truth. When he thinks he's feeding crucial intelligence to Bennato, he'll actually be signing his own death warrant.

And when I have proof of his betrayal? When I can confront him with evidence that can't be denied or explained away?

The man who swore loyalty to my father, who stood at my side through countless battles, with whom I trusted my life and my secrets, will learn exactly what betrayal costs in my world.

The lesson will be brief. It will be final.

And it will serve as a reminder to anyone else who might be tempted to bite the hand that feeds them.

I turn away from the window and begin making preparations for Elena's relocation.

There are arrangements to be made, security details to be coordinated, and contingencies to plan for every possible scenario.

Because in forty-eight hours, I'll know whether my closest ally is actually my deadliest enemy.