Page 105 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
48
ANDREY
The library feels smaller than it did a week ago, the walls pressing in as I stare at the table covered in evidence that could get us all killed. Documents are spread across the polished wood surface like pieces of a deadly puzzle. The blown-up printout of names from the mass grave sits in the center, surrounded by photographs of the scroll, the pillar drawing, and pages of notes in my own handwriting.
Mariya sits across from me, her green eyes fixed on the same papers I've been studying for seven straight days. Matvey leans against the bookshelf to my left, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable. Sophia occupies the chair near the window, her black hair catching the afternoon light as she reviews the translation notes we compiled.
I haven't slept properly in days. Every time I close my eyes, I see connections forming, patterns emerging from what initially looked like random clues Yegor left behind. The old bastard was brilliant and paranoid, hiding information so carefully that it took us this long to piece it together.
And now that I understand what we're looking at, I wish I didn't.
My gaze drifts to Mariya again. She's wearing fitted maternity jeans and a dark sweater that lovingly cups her rounded belly, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. There's tension in her shoulders, visible in the way she holds herself. She's been waiting for word from her father for over a week now, the silence stretching longer with each passing day.
I need to tell them what I've figured out. The information is too dangerous to keep to myself, even though part of me wants to protect them from knowing. Especially Mariya. But she deserves the truth, and we need to decide together what the fuck to do with it.
"Mariya," I say quietly, breaking the silence that's settled over the room. "Have you heard anything from your father?"
She looks up, and I catch the flash of worry in her eyes before she masks it. "No. Nothing."
I already knew the answer. If Yegor had made contact, I would have known immediately. But I needed to hear her confirm it, needed to see her reaction. The fact that he's still silent makes my gut twist with unease.
"Alright." I stand and move around the table, my hand resting on the edge as I look at each of them in turn. "I need to show you something. All of you."
Matvey straightens, his attention sharpening. Sophia sets down the papers she was reading and turns to face me fully. Mariya's hands curl into fists on the table, bracing herself.
I pull the scroll photograph closer and place it beside the enlarged image of the pillar drawing. Then I add the printoutof names from the crypt, arranging them so everyone can see clearly.
"I've been going through my memories," I begin, my voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Cross-referencing what Yegor left us with events from the past. This all started about twelve years ago."
Mariya's breathing quickens slightly. She knows this timeline. We all do. It's when the Bratva world fractured in ways that still echo today.
"There was a rift," I continue, pointing to the list of names. "Between the families in Russia and the ones operating in America. Some of the American families wanted separation from the homeland. They wanted autonomy, their own power structures, and freedom from the old rules."
"The families in Russia refused," Matvey says quietly. He knows this history as well as I do.
"Exactly." I tap the printout. "The Russian families had been in power for generations. They weren't about to relinquish control just because some upstarts across the ocean wanted independence."
Sophia leans forward, her blue eyes sharp. "So what happened?"
"A massacre." The word tastes bitter. "Until now, no one really knew what caused it. The official story was that it was a territorial dispute that got out of hand. But Yegor's clues led to the proof."
I pull out another document, one I've been keeping separate until this moment. It's a list I compiled based on the coded information hidden in the scroll and the pillar drawing.
"It was several of the American Bratva families," I say, my jaw tight. "Their Pakhans wanted more power, and they were willing to kill for it. They orchestrated the massacre to eliminate the strongest Russian families who opposed them."
Mariya's face goes pale. "The names on the plaque in the crypt."
"Yes." I meet her gaze. "Those are the murdered. Entire families were wiped out in coordinated attacks across multiple cities. Men, women, and anyone who got in the way."
The room falls silent except for the faint sound of traffic beyond the estate walls. I watch the information settle over them, see the moment they understand the scope of what we're looking at.
"My father figured this out," Mariya says, her voice tight. "That's why he testified."
"He figured out part of it." I move to the scroll photograph and point to the numbers written beside each safehouse location. "But there's more. Look at these numbers."
They all lean closer. The numbers appear random at first glance, just coordinates or reference codes. But I've spent days decoding them and matching them against the pillar drawing until the pattern emerged.
I pull out the enlarged image of the pillars in the field of grass and place it beside the scroll. "These numbers correspond to the pillars. And each pillar has a name written in code."
