Page 6

SANDY

I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I feel Dimitri’s hands again tracing over my skin like a memory I can’t shake, searing and intimate, haunting me with every breath.

He pumps his cock slowly at first, and I dig my nails into his chest as the sweet friction sends me into a sexual frenzy.

“More,” I whimper, grinding my pussy on his cock. “Faster…please…” I want him to fill me up until I can’t think of anything else but his cock inside me. I’m writhing on top of him, trying to force him to pick up the pace. But instead, he pulls out completely, leaving me shocked and empty.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” he hisses, fire and desire burning in his eyes. “Tell me…”

“You,” I purr, leaning forward and pressing my lips to his. “My pussy belongs to you.”

“That’s right,” he rasps, sliding his tongue around my earlobe. “And don’t ever forget it.”

He lifts me up and slams me down onto his cock. I grit my teeth as my body spasms from the fullness. Sliding his arm around my waist, he pins me in place and fucks me hard, slamming his hips up so violently that the sound echoes in the cabin.

My eyes roll back inside my head from the pleasure, and I cry out, “Yes! Oh God…Dimitri…”

He fucks me even harder, wringing an orgasm from me so strong that my body goes limp on top of him.

Rolling me over, he slides his cock between my breasts, squeezing them together as he fucks them rapidly.

With a low grunt, he pumps his cock one last time before covering my breasts with ribbons of his hot sticky cum.

My eyes snap open, fixed on the ceiling above.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady my breathing, but my thoughts won’t quiet.

They begin to pace in circles like a bloodhound chasing its own tail.

Benjamin Petrov, the files, and the unshakable truth that somewhere inside that pristine office, hidden behind glass doors and polished marble, lies the key to freeing Dimitri.

By morning, Marina had texted me a single word: Tonight.

When the mansion finally goes still and sleep claims everyone else, I slip into all black.

Nothing flashy or cinematic, just fitted leggings, a hoodie, and worn sneakers soft enough not to echo against polished marble floors.

I leave my hair in a tight braid, tuck my phone into my sports bra, and try not to flinch every time I pass a mirror.

I look like a girl about to commit a felony. Because I am.

Dimitri will kill me for this . I take a deep breath and release it slowly. Let him try.

Marina meets me two blocks from Petrov’s office building. She doesn’t say hello. She just hands me a laminated ID and a pair of latex gloves. “You’ve got twenty minutes. No more.”

Her voice is low and clipped, her accent barely noticeable beneath years of practice. But her eyes, icy and sharp, speak volumes.

We slip inside through a side entrance used by staff, past a loading dock where empty boxes sit. Marina leads me through the service corridor, past a mechanical room, and then opens a nondescript door into the back of the lobby.

Petrov’s office is on the twentieth floor. The elevator ride is silent except for the thrum of my pulse in my ears.

At the top, Marina hands me a keycard and a small silver key. “Once you're inside, Jorge will keep the cameras looped. But I can’t protect you if someone walks in.”

“Understood.”

“Don’t touch anything you don’t have to,” she warns.

“I’m not here to steal,” I say.

She gives me a look that could crack glass. “Then you’re dumber than you look.”

Petrov’s office is as ostentatious as I expected. It has floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city, polished mahogany floors, and a painting of some Russian czar glaring down from above the fireplace.

I head straight for the wall cabinet Nick described. It’s locked, but that doesn’t last. I slide the small silver key into place, turn it with a quiet click, and open the panel.

My breath catches. Files. Dozens of them.

Neatly organized, labeled with precision, each stamped with dates hinting at something far more calculated than coincidence.

I don’t have time to review them all, so I grab the ones marked with red tabs.

My hands tremble as I flip through pages of names, transaction logs, call transcripts, and even printed emails annotated with a neat, vicious scrawl.

One name keeps surfacing. Detective Louis Russo.

At first, I think it’s a coincidence. But then I see it again. And again. It’s folded into reports about seized shipments that mysteriously vanished, testimonies that changed mid-trial, and a case dismissed because “the officer failed to appear.”

Money moves through these pages like blood through veins. It isn’t just bribes. It’s laundered cash. Wire transfers are routed through shell charities and front companies, all of which bear Petrov’s signature at the bottom. And Russo? He isn’t a pawn. He’s Petrov’s partner.

This is it , I think, snapping photos as fast as my phone can handle. This is leverage.

I don’t hear Marina come back in. I only feel the air shift before her voice slices through the silence.

“Five minutes.”

I nod, already moving, restoring every file to its place like I was never there. “You said he keeps digital backups. Where?”

She pauses, then whispers, “Encrypted drive built into his desk. You need fingerprint access. You won’t crack it.”

I don’t waste time trying. I have enough to light a fuse, but Petrov won’t see the explosion coming.

We move fast on the way down. No words are exchanged, just the tense rhythm of two women bound by necessity and mutual risk. At the service exit, Marina pauses.

“If he finds out,” she warns, “he won’t just kill you. He’ll destroy everything you love.”

“He can try,” I hiss. “But he’s not the only one with sharp teeth.”

When I return, Lev is in the estate kitchen, hunched over a tablet with three phones scattered around him. He looks like a soldier who never came off the battlefield. He doesn’t glance up as I walk in.

“You need to take a look at this,” I state, tossing my phone onto the counter in front of him.

Lev picks it up, brows lifting slightly as he scrolls through the images. “Petrov’s files?”

“Mostly payment logs and police transcripts. There’s a name that keeps coming up. Detective Louis Russo.”

That gets his attention. He taps through a few photos, zooms in on the signature, then looks at me. “You’re sure this is legit?”

“They were in his locked office files. They have to be legit.”

Lev’s jaw tightens, and a muscle ticks beneath the shadow of his stubble. “Where’d you get these?”

Lev’s stare pins me in place, sharp enough to cut glass. I clear my throat, but he doesn’t push it.

“Russo’s been a thorn in our side for years,” he mutters.

“Corrupt to the core, but it’s more than that.

He’s got a personal vendetta against Aleksandr. Always finding ways to interfere, sabotage deals, stir up heat where there shouldn’t be any.

But if we can tie him directly to Petrov…

and to Morozov—” He lets the rest hang, the promise of retribution thick in the silence that follows.

“We use it,” I finish. “We turn his own man against him.”

Lev looks at me momentarily, not with pity or disapproval but with something close to respect.

“I’ll dig,” he finally says. “But quietly. If we go too loud too fast, Petrov will burn it all down before we can nail him.”

“I know.” I grab one of the mugs sitting near the edge of the counter, fill it with coffee, and take a sip.

Lev doesn’t say a word. He just sits there watching me. And somehow, the silence between us says more than any accusation ever can. “Dimitri wouldn’t want you taking this kind of risk.”

I meet his stare without flinching. “Too late for that.”

His eyes narrow. “You care about him.”

My throat tightens, but I don’t look away. “Yes. I do.”

He sets the phone down with a dull thud and leans in, his voice low and hard. “This world doesn’t forgive love. It chews it up and spits it out. Especially when it comes from people like us.”

I hold his gaze. “Then maybe it’s time someone makes it choke.”

He pauses, then nods slowly. The kind where words mean less than action. “I’ll reach out to someone I trust,” he states. “If there’s a trail, we’ll find it.”

I turn toward the hallway but stop just before crossing the threshold. “Lev?”

He glances up.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer. Just gives a single nod, quiet and firm. The type that doesn’t ask for loyalty but returns it anyway. The kind that means I’ve got your back .

I step out of the kitchen and into the dim hallway. The estate is cloaked in quiet. My phone feels lighter in my hand, but my heart feels heavier in my chest.

Dimitri is still locked away in a concrete box for crimes he didn’t commit. But for the first time since he was taken, I have a weapon. And I plan to wield it like hellfire.