Page 9 of Claimed By River

Nadia visibly relaxes at the sound of Elodie’s voice.

“I need to talk to the guys,” I tell Raiden.

He nods once. That’s all I need. I’ve known Raiden since college. All four of us go back that far. He knows me well enough to know I don’t waste words.

I watch Elodie wrap an arm around Nadia’s shoulders, urging her deeper into the living room. “Come sit with me.”

Now, it’s my turn to hesitate. She looks so small sitting there, and something in my chest goes tight and stays that way. Nadia notices.

“I’ll be okay,” she says quietly.

I don’t entirely believe her. Still, I force myself to nod before following Raiden toward the hidden staircase leading into the basement beneath the tattoo shop. Roman is just coming through the gym door with a towel draped around his neck when we walk in, while Royal is already seated in front of his bank of computer monitors, fingers flying across his keyboard.

One look at my face and Royal stops typing. “What happened?”

“Nadia got a phone call from her father.”

He goes still, and the room falls silent. Roman slowly lowers the water bottle he’d been drinking from.

“Explain.”

I tell them everything, from the phone ringing to Nadia’s complete breakdown afterward. By the time I finish, Royal has already turned back to his monitors.

“I figured this day might come.”

I stare at him. “What does that mean?”

He exhales slowly. “It means there’s something I should’ve told you all a long time ago.”

Raiden folds his arms. “We’re listening.”

Royal pulls up a secure file on one of the monitors, then turns the screen toward us. A photograph of a bald man in an expensive tailored suit fills the display. His expression is cold, calculating, and completely devoid of warmth.

“This is Damir Aronov.”

I study the picture. “Nadia’s father.”

Royal nods. “Head of one of the larger Russian organized crime syndicates operating out of California.”

Roman whistles softly. “So, our receptionist has been hiding from the Russian bratva.”

“Essentially.”

Raiden’s eyes narrow. “You knew,” he says, stating the obvious. “How long?”

“Since before I hired her.”

The room erupts.

“You what?” Roman barks.

Royal doesn’t flinch. “I ran a background check before offering her the job. The identity she gave us checked out, but something about it felt manufactured. So I kept digging.”

“And?”

“I found Nadia Aronov.” He clicks another file open. “A seventeen-year-old girl who disappeared two years ago without a trace.”

I look back at Damir’s photograph. “You hired her anyway.”