"I know they have a ring of women they hire out. High-end prostitutes, most of them obtained with trafficking from America." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I've seen them. But there isn't much to know. I lived in America until the past few years, and he keeps me intentionally ignorant. The only reason I know the women were American is because when I was taken here, several of the women he took as his were on the same plane."
The bastard.
"Is that all?"
She pauses. I squeeze again, eliciting a small cry from her. She continues.
"I know they kept a man prisoner in a cell-like room on our estate." She swallows. "And I know that man died, beaten to death by my father's assistant, his body disposed of in the river. I also know he was rival Bratva." She looks at all of us standing around her. "Was he one of yours?"
Demyan looks at me in confusion and addresses her next. "When was this?"
"About six months ago," she says.
No one says anything for a moment.
"Was it one of your men?" she repeats.
"You let us ask the questions," I admonish.
"There's something you should know," she says, her soft voice imbued with a trace of steel.
"Go on," I say.
"I have no allegiance to my father. None. I hate him. If I could, I would escape him and never return to him. I don't love him. You've taken me prisoner, but I've lived the life of a prisoner for the past several years, and you don't scare me."
Silence descends on the room.
This was not part of our plan.
"Does your father care about you at all?" I ask.
She swallows a ragged breath. "He does."
"Then that's all we need." It isn't, though. Her claim not to have an allegiance to her father could put our entire operation at risk, if he sees her as expendable in any way.
"Start the camera," I order Filip. With a nod, Filip flicks a button on his phone, and trains the camera on Olena.
I kneel beside her. "My name is Maksym Alexeev," I say to the camera. "You know who I am and which brotherhood I serve. You killed a woman named Taya." I lean toward Olena and glide my hand across her belly, trapping her small frame beneath my grip. I kiss her cheek with deliberate possession. "She was mine. In turn, your daughter now belongs to me. If you want her back, you will abide by our demands. Surrender yourself for the murder you committed. If you fail to honor our request, your daughter will die." I lap my tongue on the apple of her cheek, as if savoring the very taste of her, making her gasp and shudder.
Filip cuts off the film and gives me a nod. "Saved," he says.
"Keep it," I order, looking at Demyan. "We will use it if necessary, but before we do, I wish to find out what I can from her."
Demyan nods. As soon as Yuri knows we have his daughter, he will make a move. It will mean an act of war. Bloodshed. Our temporary truce with them will no longer hold, and blood will coat the streets of Moscow. We must time our threat perfectly, for Yuri Baranov will not meet our demands. He will no sooner give himself to us than I would cut off my own balls. He will attack or defend his daughter. But no matter what happens... no matter how this plays out... blood will be shed.
We ask a few more questions, but she doesn't know much more. I can tell she's weary and giving us her honesty right now. After a nod to Demyan, confirming my gut instinct, I dismiss our group.
"Send me a copy of the video," I tell Filip, who nods and continues to take notes.
We walk back to the elevator alone, when one question comes to me.
"How did your father know the whereabouts of my Taya?" I ask.
"Your Taya? Who was she to you?"
I give her cuffed wrists a jerk. "Answer the question."
"I don't know," she says. "I-I have no idea." Then her voice hardens, and her pretty eyes grow steely. "Maybe if you wanted answers you should have kidnapped one of my father's men, not me."
Oh, I'll put this mouth of hers to good use.
I don't respond. Her father's men don't mean to Yuri what she does.
I take her back to the room and put her back to bed, then pace the library. Thinking. Mulling. Processing.
I don't even realize the sun has set out the windows of the library.
Something isn't adding up, but I'm not sure what it is yet.
I go back to the room and when I open the door, she jumps, startled. Instead of lying on the bed as I expected, she's pacing the floor, as if looking for something.
"Why are you out of bed?" My patience wanes with this little captive.