Page 105 of Filthy Little Fix

I shake his hand.

"Allow me," he says, lightly taking my arm to help me walk.

It's a surprise. I didn't think a Volkov would show kindness.

"I'm fine," I say.

"I insist."

I walk slowly—with Dmitry—to the armchair in the center of the room, facing them. Luca remains at the door as I sit down, trying to keep my torso straight. It's a bit hard to breathe.

Dmitry returns to his chair behind an office desk piled with documents.

Dima. The nickname slipped out of Dante automatically, intimately; someone you've grown up with. He said it with a serene brutality, without even realizing it. Some very poorly calibrated part of my nervous system found that beautiful.

"Report," Dante orders.

I let the spell break.

"They wanted to decrypt the data Sal stole," I say, getting straight to the point. "I met Alexei Malakov in person. Interesting experience."

They all have the same reaction: a subtle frown, a sense of unease. The king showing his face on the board is never a good sign.

"He spoke to you?" says Svetlana. She turns, and I see the reflection of a screen in her glasses. She's doing her research, checking records.

"He did. Even tried to recruit me. But I don't think he was serious."

Dmitry is watching me more closely now. Dante has never taken his suffocating focus off me.

"Elaborate," Svetlana says, looking back at us.

I lean back in the chair. I feel a sharp pain in my ribs.

"I'll tell you what happened, what Ithinkhappened, and then you can be the judges," I say. Svetlana isn't used to an outsider speaking so casually to her. Her annoyance is visible. "I don't know how long I was confined, but the first few hours or days were in isolation. I'd say they were gauging the Volkovs' reaction to decide how to proceed. By the time Alexei arrived, Viktor Orlov was already dead, and someone had been separated into six pieces after…"

"Seven," Dmitry corrects.

"Seven," I continue. "Alexei wanted to know how much you were paying me. Made up something about a counter-offer…"

"Why do you think he made it up?" Svetlana interrupts, impatient.

"He wanted me to decrypt the stolen data willingly. And I did?—"

"You what?!" Svetlana immediately exclaims. Dmitry touches his temples, Dante tenses into that hateful expression I know so well.

I push myself forward in the chair. "It was for a good reason!" I say, but I have to lean back to speak with a broken rib. "He gave me a controlled terminal to work on—to reach you, I needed to run a script on an open network, which they only allowed after checking the files for security and authenticity. And apparently, the message I left at the casino got through. Or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Silence. Svetlana is displeased and opens her mouth to ask questions, but she lacks the expertise. I can almost feel it:how did you get a script past their check?

I'd even answer it.

"Let's assume that this data, after our attacks, is no longer useful to his operations," Dmitry says. I get it now—Dmitry is the peacemaker brother. He glances at Dante and Svetlana. "Right, Sveta? Donya?"

Donya. What an adorable nickname.

The two say nothing. It's not right by them, but Dmitry turns back to me anyway. "Continue, Nyx."

"Well, he checked the files before you all arrived, so if I hadn't done what I did, I'd be a corpse right now."