Page 86 of Forced By the Bratva

“Yevgeni, don’t.” Markov frowned.

“It’s Adrian,” he confessed, his voice loud and clear. “Adrian Vale.”

“You son of a bitch,” Markov cursed at him. “I knew I never should’ve brought you on board.”

Adrian Vale.

The name rang a bell because I knew the bastard.

Years ago, we’d moved in overlapping circles—shared intermediaries and a few joint logistics runs that never made it into official records.

He was careful. Connected. The kind of man who preferred to stay three layers removed from anything that could be traced.

“He was the one who authorized the payments for the information we sold,” Yevgeni continued, running his mouth. “We never met him face-to-face, but the channels were his. The encryption signatures matched what we’d seen from his people before.”

I looked between them. “And the disappearances. The ones that never lined up with rival work.”

Yevgeni nodded. “Nexum used our routes for more than money. People. Political problems that needed to vanish without fingerprints. We handled the logistics. They handled the reasons. The Tarasov name gave them cover they couldn’t build on their own.”

“Fuckin’ traitors,” Boris growled, eager to have his moment with them.

The scope of this sat heavy. We hadn’t just been leaking money. We’d been a quiet infrastructure channel for an organization that operated across borders and didn’t answer to any of the usual rules.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” I said, rising to my feet. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“Wait,” Yevgeni called out to me. “We’ve told you everything. You’re going to let us go, right? Remember, we’re still members of the council.”

“No,” I said. “You lost that title the second you chose to betray the Bratva.”

His throat bobbled.

“Now, it’s time to face the consequences of your actions.”

“No, no, no, don’t do this, Ilya!” he barked.

I turned to Boris, who already had that smug smirk on his lips. “They’re all yours.”

Boris stepped forward with his toolbox. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this.”

I walked out of the room, ignoring Yevgeni’s cries and pleas. Markov and I had never really agreed on anything, but at least he earned my respect. The man was full of pride, even in the face of death.

That was the true Bratva spirit.

Iris was already by the door when I stepped into the hallway. Her face was pale but steady; clearly, she’d been listening.

“How much of that did you hear?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

She exhaled softly. “Enough.”

I hesitated, then asked, “Did you know your father was a federal worker?”

“I did.” She nodded. “But I didn’t know about his mission to expose Nexum.” Her fingers combed through her hair. “And to think they came after me because of him.”

I closed the distance between us. “They came because they were afraid of what you could do to their organization.” I cupped her face in my palms. “You’re a threat to Nexum, Iris. That’s huge.”

She let a small grin play on her lips. Then she asked, “Do you know him? Vale?”

“We’ve crossed paths. Business. Nothing personal. He keeps his hands clean on paper.”