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Chapter 36: The Third Party

Chapter 36: The Third Party

Pavel was secured in the lower level of the mansion by the time the sky began to lighten. The interrogation had given them more than the night before names, a rough timeline, and the method he had used to pass information to the broker but none of it made the betrayal cleaner. If anything, the details made it worse. Every answer added weight to what he had done and how deliberately he had done it.

Anya stood in the private study with her arms folded, watching Dmitri move through the reports Katya had already prepared. He had not slept. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the sharp focus that had not eased since they left the rail yard, and in the way he read each line as if it might still change if he stared at it long enough.

"He sold the information three days before he took the money," Dmitri said. His voice was even, but there was a hard precision underneath it. "Which means the buyer had time to prepare. Time to decide what to do with it."

Anya exhaled slowly and shifted her weight against the edge of the desk. "And we still don’t know who the buyer is."

"Not yet." He turned another page on the tablet. "But the broker he used has a pattern. He doesn’t work with street crews or desperate men. He works with people who can pay quietly and disappear cleanly if things go wrong."

She moved closer to the desk, resting her palms against the wood. "Politicians."

Dmitri looked up. "Or someone protected by one."

The idea settled heavily between them. Money was one problem. A political hand behind the sale of information about her blood was another entirely. That kind of involvement changed the shape of the threat. It meant influence, insulation, and people who were harder to reach with ordinary methods.

Anya studied his face for a moment. "If a public figure is involved, this stops being only a Bratva matter."

"I know." Dmitri set the tablet down carefully. "That’s why we don’t move until we know exactly who it is. Guessing wrong would cost more than waiting."

For a moment neither of them spoke. The quiet in the room felt different from the tension of the night before. This was slower. Heavier. The kind of quiet that came after a betrayal had been confirmed and the real cost was still unfolding in front of them.

Anya broke it first. "When he said it wasn’t personal, I almost believed he thought that was true."

Dmitri’s eyes lifted to hers. "Was it personal to you?"

"Yes." She didn’t hesitate. "He sat at our table. He watched us. He listened to things he should never have been close enough to hear. And when he ran, he tried to turn me into a transaction."

Something dark moved through Dmitri’s expression. He stepped around the desk and stopped in front of her. One hand rose to the side of her neck, his thumb resting just below her jaw, the touch firm without being rough.

"No one sells what is mine," he said quietly. "Not information. Not access. Not you."

Anya held his gaze. The possessiveness in his voice was familiar, but it landed differently after the night they had just endured. "Then we find the buyer."

"We will."

His hand lingered for a second longer before he let it fall. The contact was brief, but it carried the same certainty she had come to know well. Dmitri did not make empty promises. When he said something would be handled, it usually meant someone else would not walk away clean.

Anya glanced toward the window. The morning light was still weak, washed out by cloud cover. "You should rest for an hour at least."

"I will rest when I know who paid for you," he replied.

There was no anger in the words. Only decision.

By late morning, the picture had begun to clear.

Katya entered the study without knocking, tablet already turned toward them. Her expression was controlled, but there was a sharper edge to it than usual. "The broker’s payment trail didn’t end in Belarus. It moved again. Smaller transfers. Cleaner ones. Eventually into an account connected to a consultancy firm in the city."

Dmitri took the tablet and began scrolling. "Whose firm?"

"Officially? A man named Oleg Mirsky. Public relations. Government contracts. He works with city officials and regional offices. On paper he looks clean."

Anya frowned. "I’ve heard the name."

"You should have," Katya said. "He’s been rising quietly for the last two years. No major scandals. No obvious enemies. The kind of man who stays useful to powerful people by never becoming the loudest person in the room."

Dmitri continued reading, his expression unreadable. "And the connection to Pavel?"

"Indirect but solid. The broker has worked through Mirsky’s structure before. Not always with proof strong enough for a courtroom, but strong enough for us. The timing matches. The amounts match. And the pattern matches the way Pavel said the exchange was handled."

Anya looked between them. "So Pavel sold the information into Mirsky’s network. That doesn’t tell us if Mirsky himself is the buyer... or just the middle."

"No," Dmitri agreed. "But it gives us a direction. And directions are enough to start applying pressure."

He handed the tablet back to Katya. "Dig deeper. I want every contract, every associate, every private meeting Mirsky has taken in the last six months. If he so much as had dinner with someone connected to the Orlovs or the old Syndicate channels, I want to know about it."

Katya nodded once. "I’ll have the first layer for you by evening."

When the door closed behind her, Anya leaned back against the desk and folded her arms. "A political player."

"Yes."

"That makes this harder."

Dmitri glanced at her. "It makes it slower. Not harder. Men like Mirsky survive by balance. If the balance shifts, they fall like anyone else."

She studied him for a moment. The anger from the night before had cooled into something more controlled. More dangerous. This was the version of him that built plans in layers and buried his enemies inside them without raising his voice.

"You’re going to approach him," she said.

"Eventually." His eyes met hers. "First I want to know how close he is to the remaining Syndicate channels. If he’s only greedy, that’s one problem. If he’s connected to the people who were already hunting your blood, that’s another."

Anya pushed away from the desk and crossed to him. She rested her hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath the fabric of his shirt. "And if he was the one who paid for information about me?"

Dmitri looked down at her. The silver in his eyes was cold, clear, and absolute.

"Then he made the last mistake of his career."

The quiet that followed was interrupted by a single vibration from the phone on the desk. Dmitri picked it up, glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted by only a fraction. It was small, but Anya had learned to notice those changes.

"What is it?" she asked.

He turned the phone so she could see the message.

A clean, formal line of text sat on the screen:

Oleg Mirsky requests a private meeting. He says it concerns shared interests and a man named Pavel.

Anya’s eyes lifted to Dmitri’s.

The third party had just stepped into the open.

And he had chosen to do it under his own name.