Page 32 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Dmitri

Thomas sprawled in the passenger seat with that signature lazy attitude of his, half-sitting, half-lounging, his right hand cushioning his head while one foot casually rested against the dashboard's edge.

The streetscape blurred past his window like meaningless shadows.

Nick and I had gotten used to his whole "nothing-in-the-world-matters" act a long time ago.

"Dude, never thought I'd see the day you'd actually bring a woman home." His voice carried that usual mocking tone, the tail end lifting slightly like he was savoring some harmless provocation. "Guess it's time to start thinking about carrying on the family name, huh?"

I didn't bite at his bait, keeping my eyes locked on the winding mountain road ahead.

"Talk only about the business." My voice came out low and clipped, cutting through the silence in the car.

Thomas's smirk faded. He dropped his crossed leg and leaned forward from the passenger seat, his eyes sharpening.

"Last night's shipment got hit at checkpoint three.

Heavy losses. These bastards didn't mess around—even torched the transport trucks to scrap metal.

" Every word came out carefully measured, like he was weighing each one, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the door handle.

I kept my expression neutral, eyes still fixed ahead. The news was important, sure, but not exactly shocking. In this business, betrayal and surprises went hand in hand, clinging to everyone's heels like shadows.

"Casualties?" My tone stayed level, not a ripple of emotion.

"Two guards dead, three critical—still touch and go." Thomas paused, lowering his voice. "This wasn't some random robbery. They knew our transport routes, knew our setup, even had our backup channels blocked. Someone's talking from the inside."

I frowned, my mind quickly sorting through all the intel.

Thomas continued, "Here's where it gets interesting—early this morning, a warehouse on the outskirts exploded. Crime scene investigation shows that warehouse was storing exactly what got lifted from us last night. Looks like the thieves got themselves blown up."

He caught my eye through the rearview mirror, his gaze loaded with meaning.

"Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?

Almost like someone planted explosives in that cargo ahead of time, waiting to take out those greedy rats along with their nest. My dear brother, this wouldn't happen to be your handiwork, would it? "

"Floor it." I ignored his question, ordering Nick instead.

Nick slammed the gas pedal. The car shot forward, the engine's roar drowning out my churning thoughts like a beast's growl, tires screaming against the wet asphalt.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to the bombed-out warehouse site.

The acrid smell of charred remains hit my nostrils, concrete and steel debris scattered everywhere, twisted metal frames gleaming coldly in the daylight.

I walked slowly through the scene, my boots crunching on rubble, taking in every detail—the blast crater, scattered wire fragments, and the distant flash of red and blue emergency lights.

My brow furrowed as the puzzle pieces in my head started falling into place. Each fragment screamed danger, and the most glaring piece pointed straight at the man beside me .

Thomas followed behind me, his footsteps echoing through the ruins. His breathing was slightly labored—not from physical strain, but probably from nerves.

In this short time, he'd already snuck dozens of glances at my face. My heart grew colder with each look, because of this ridiculous betrayal.

"Dmitri." His voice rang clear in the silence. "You seriously had no idea about this?"

I stopped walking and slowly turned to face him.

"You think I'd sabotage my own shipment?" I shot back, my tone calm to the point of indifference.

"No, I think you'd take out rats." Thomas stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "If you found the mole, you'd use this kind of lesson. Blow up the cargo and the thieves together—eliminate the threat and send a message to any other potential backstabbers."

His analysis was uncomfortably accurate. I had to admit, it did fit my style.

Nick stood a short distance away, silently watching our exchange. His silence carried more weight than any words could, because he knew pieces of the truth, knew the real rules of this game.

"It's exactly what you think it is." I finally spoke.

Thomas's eyes flashed with anxious, urgent light as he stared me down, his voice tight with suppressed anger and probing. "Dmitri, everyone else I get, but why keep me in the dark too? You know how much time I've wasted on this shit these past few days?"

I let out a quiet laugh, but there was no warmth in it. "Thomas, you know I don't trust anyone."

"Enough!" Thomas suddenly raised his voice, kicking hard at a chunk of debris nearby. "I'm not your enemy, Dmitri. If you've got a plan, if you know something, tell me. We're brothers, aren't we?"

"Head back, Thomas. Nick and I can handle things here." My tone carried authority that wouldn't be questioned, waving him off.

"But Dmitri, I could help—" He tried to argue, leaning forward, genuine anxiety showing through .

"Not needed." I cut him off, my gaze cold as ice. "There's plenty waiting for you at home. Like tomorrow's accounting meeting."

Thomas's face shifted slightly, that panic of being shut out flickering across his features, the muscles around his mouth twitching.

But he finally nodded, shoulders sagging.

"Alright, call if you need anything." He turned toward another car, his silhouette looking particularly lonely against the ruins' shadows.

After sending Thomas away, I sat alone in the car and lit a cigarette.

Smoke slowly rose in the cramped space, gray-white rings spiraling upward like the doubts swirling in my mind.

Thomas's performance today reminded me of a night many years ago, when I'd suspected someone equally close to me.

That familiar unease crashed over me like a tide.

Once planted, seeds of doubt grow like weeds, but I needed more than guesswork—I needed cold, hard evidence.

"Nick."

"Yes, boss." Nick's usual brevity.

"Run a full background check on Thomas. Recent movements, call logs, money trails. I want the most detailed report possible. And remember—keep it quiet. Don't spook any potential rats." My orders came out sharp and final, each word carrying a chill.

"Understood." Nick paused, his tone still steady. "There's something else to report. Miss Carter is currently in the estate's back garden, meeting with Ella. Our people are monitoring—Miss Carter seems somewhat tense."

Nick's expression was grim. We both knew what this meant. If Avery was talking to the real Ella, there had to be deeper reasons behind it. And considering Thomas's recent suspicious behavior, this situation might be more serious than we'd imagined.

My fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel. This news stirred an unsettling feeling in my gut.

"Show me the feed."

The footage Nick handed over immediately grabbed my attention. Avery stood in the garden sunlight, facing a blonde woman in a maid's uniform .

Damn, I'd need to have a word with Petty about the hiring process—can't just let anyone in!

Years of experience told me that when enemies start using women as pawns, things usually turn very dangerous.

In the frame, their postures looked natural, no tension or hostility. Avery was even listening intently, while Ella appeared sincere. This didn't look like a confrontational relationship—more like friends meeting up.

An unfamiliar feeling surged in my chest, more intense than any physical pain I'd ever experienced, because it struck directly at my most vulnerable spot.

The desire for trust and the fear of betrayal.

"Nick." My voice dropped low, but each word carried steel-like hardness. "Ella's full file."

Nick pulled out his laptop from the briefcase and handed it to me. "We've already investigated her." I quickly scanned the documents, my eyes locking onto Ella's photo and background information. Every line made my expression darker, every detail confirming the possibility I least wanted to face.

"Ella Solovyeva, real name Ella Rosini. Cover identity as photographer and model," I read quietly, my voice carrying dangerous calm, "but actually daughter of Antonio Rosini, Vladimir's lieutenant."

Nick nodded. "Yes, boss. She's mafia royalty. We have reason to believe her approach to you as a dance partner had ulterior motives."

My gaze returned to the two women in the garden. Avery was speaking earnestly about something, her expression focused and sincere. But now, in my eyes, that sincerity was starting to look suspicious.

"If Avery and Ella already knew each other…" Nick's words trailed off, but the implication was clear.

My fingers unconsciously traced the gun handle—that cold touch was my only familiar comfort in the darkness.

I'd spent my whole life guarding against enemies, but I'd never considered that the one woman who made me lower my defenses, the woman I was prepared to protect with everything I had, might herself be the deadliest trap .

This possibility brought unprecedented pain. Not physical pain, but a despair welling up from deep in my soul. If Avery really was sent by enemies, then all our beautiful moments together, all the tenderness and passion, became an elaborate web of lies.

"Keep watching." My voice was cold as ice. "I want to know what they're discussing."

Avery and Ella's conversation continued. I couldn't see Avery's face, but from her body language, I could sense she and Ella weren't at odds—at least not openly.

This realization made my heart sink further. If Avery trusted Ella, if they were friends, then Avery's motives for approaching me…

I didn't want to think further. But reality was like a sharp blade, cutting through my newly sprouted trust over and over. Every detail seemed to prove that I might once again be betrayed by someone closest to me.

"Boss," Nick said quietly, "they're about to leave."

Sure enough, Avery and Ella stepped apart, preparing to go separate ways. Ella pulled her hat brim low and turned to leave, while Avery remained frozen in place, seeming to need more time.

"Follow Ella," I commanded. "I want to know where she goes, who she meets."

Nick nodded silently, his figure quickly disappearing from my line of sight.

I stayed in the car, like some pathetic voyeur, watching Avery through the surveillance feed. She stood there alone, her figure fragile, looking exhausted and lost. She kept checking her phone, that hesitant look suggesting she was struggling with whether to contact someone.

Was she going to call me? Or report to someone else?

Complex emotions churned in my chest. Love, suspicion, protectiveness, anger—all these feelings tangled together, creating unprecedented chaos in my mind.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I couldn't imagine what I'd do if Avery had really betrayed me. That kind of pain might be more lethal than any physical injury.

My phone's vibration felt like death knocking at the door. It was Nick.

"Ella entered an office building, suspected to be one of Vladimir's strongholds."

My last thread of hope snapped. The evidence was right there, clear as day. Ella went straight to an enemy stronghold, and Avery had just met with her.

This couldn't be a coincidence. All evidence pointed to the same conclusion—Avery had connections to the enemy.

"Also, according to our informants, Vladimir's been planning something targeting you recently. If Miss Carter really is one of theirs..."

I didn't let Nick finish. I hung up, my heart churning with unprecedented pain.

Those tender kisses, those loving gazes, those moments that made my heart race—were they all an act? When she trembled in my arms, was that vulnerability fake? The love in her eyes when she looked at me, her focus when cooking for me—was all of it lies?

I remembered Avery's words, "Next time we meet, I'll tell you everything."

The car's AC was bone-chillingly cold, making me feel frozen from the inside out.

I collapsed back against the seat, completely drained, experiencing heartbreak for the first time in my life.

But even drowning in this agony, I found myself making excuses for her. Maybe she was being blackmailed? Maybe she had no clue what she'd gotten herself into? Maybe-maybe her feelings for me were real, and she was just being used as a pawn?

The memory of her tears on my chest felt too real, too genuine. The way her voice broke when she whispered my name, the way her fingers traced my scars like she was trying to heal them with her touch—no one was that good an actress. Right?

I closed my eyes, letting the fragments of our memories slice through me like broken glass.

I needed to know the truth. Not speculation, not circumstantial evidence. The real, unfiltered truth.

Even if it destroyed me completely.