Page 65 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
I isolate the command sequence, pulling up the specific terminal that initiated the override. My pulse accelerates. Whoever did this knew exactly what to do, and only the people in my inner circle could do it with that level of precision.
I scroll through logs, comparing timestamps, cross-referencing access codes. Every piece of data narrows the field.
Eventually, it comes into focus. The access point traces back to Sergei’s office terminal.
I don’t react outwardly. No rage. No shouting. Nothing that would alert anyone watching that the hunter had found the scent.
Instead, I pick up my phone and send a simple message to Sergei:
Me:How’s it going?
Seconds later, the reply:
Sergei:We’re almost wrapping up. We’ve gathered evidence.
I type back, keeping my tone light, casual.
Me:Alright. Quick meeting when you’re back.
Sergei:Okay, Boss.
I silence the message thread and dial Timofey. His voice comes through immediately.
“Yeah?”
“Found something. I’ll tell you when you arrive,” I say, keeping it clipped. “Meanwhile, can you start digging through financial transfers and communication trails linked to Sergei’s accounts?”
A pause. Then: “On it.” He hangs up, and I feel a small measure of relief. At least I’ve got backup I can trust implicitly. This is why in the Rusnak family, we never turn our back on family. They’re the only ones who will give you a hundred percent loyalty. As big as our family is, there’s never been a record of betrayal.
I close the log, wipe every trace of my investigation from the system, and leave the security room. My steps are quiet as I head to the library.
It’s quiet when I enter, sunlight pooling across the shelves. Ellie is perched on the edge of a leather chair, lost ina book. The sight of her calms the edge of my mind that the warehouse raid and the potential betrayal had sharpened.
She looks up, and her voice has that teasing lilt that makes my chest tighten.
“Should I be offended that you’ve been back for hours and didn’t come see me?”
I chuckle, letting the sound roll low in my throat. I walk toward her, slipping the book from her hands and setting it aside. Without another word, I pull her into my arms, breathing in the faint scent of flowers in her hair. For a moment, nothing else exists.
“I…was told you were in the library,” I murmur against her temple. “I thought I’d leave you some peace and quiet.”
It’s a half-truth. I hate the lie in my throat, but I don’t want to tell her about Sergei just yet.
She presses closer, resting her head against my chest. “It’s okay. So…what about the warehouse? Did you find anything?”
I tighten my hold on her just a little. “We’re trying to figure out who did it. I don’t have the answers yet.”
She sighs and, with a fluid motion, pulls me onto the chair beside her. We sit in quiet for a moment, the only sound the faint rustle of pages from a book I set aside. My fingers brush against hers, deliberately, almost unconsciously.
Then I tilt my head, looking down at her. “Ellie…if you suspected betrayal at the highest level, from someone you trust implicitly…someone inside your closest circle. What would you do?”
She studies me for a long moment, her eyes sharp and calculating. Then, slowly, she begins to outline her plan.
“First,” she says, “you gather baseline data. Every communication, every movement, every minor decision anyone makes in that circle. Nothing is too small. I would start logging access codes, phone calls, email timestamps, even subtlechanges in behavior.” She taps her finger against her lips thoughtfully. “Patterns emerge over time. People slip up.”
I nod, absorbing every word.
“Second,” she continues, “you plant controlled misinformation. Little things that are believable but aren’t critical to operations. See what gets picked up, see what changes. The traitor will act on it.”
