Page 139 of Secret Heir

“Miss Delano.” Nikolai’s voice carries across the room, formal and commanding. “Please take a seat. We’ll begin shortly.”

Maksim guides me to a bench along the side wall, away from the center. We sit and his hand finds mine immediately. His palm is warm and steady while mine is cold and trembling.

“Breathe,” he whispers. “Just breathe.”

I try. My heart is racing so fast I can feel it in my throat.

More people file in. Dmitri, Pavel, other men I recognize from the compound. They’re witnesses, I realize, who investigated Alexander’s network, and found evidence. They can corroborate what we’re claiming.

Then the doors open again, and Alexander is brought in.

He’s shackled with hands cuffed in front of him and his ankles chained together. He’s flanked by four guards. I noticed he’s wearing the same clothes from the raid, now rumpled and stained with dried blood. His left leg is bandaged where Maksim shot him, and he limps as he walks.

Even though he’s been captured and brought before the council, Alexander Morozov still carries himself with arrogance. His blue eyes sweep the room, but when his gaze lands on me I see recognition flash across his face before his face transforms into pure, undiluted hatred.

I force myself to hold his stare even though my instincts are screaming at me to run. I force myself not to look away or show fear, even though my heart is hammering and I want to jump out of my skin.

This man tried to kill my son. This man poisoned Daniel, tried to murder Maksim, and threatened my unborn child.

I will not be afraid of him.

Alexander’s lips curve into a cold smile before he’s forced into a chair in the center of the room, directly facing the council. The guards chain his ankle shackles to a ring in the floor.

Nikolai rises, and the room falls silent. When he speaks, his voice is formal and ceremonial. Maksim and Nikolai gave me a crash course on how this would go so I know this is way the Bratva has conducted business for generations.

“We are convened today to hear charges against Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov, formerly of this brotherhood,” Nikolai says with authority. “The charges are as follows: embezzlement of brotherhood funds, conspiracy with enemy organizations, sharing of classified intelligence with foreign operatives, murder of a brotherhood soldier, attempted murder of brotherhood leadership, attempted murder of an innocent child, and treason against the brotherhood.”

He pauses, letting the weight of those words settle over the room.

“These are capital offenses. If found guilty, the sentence is death.” Another pause. “Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov, how do you answer these charges?”

“Not guilty, Nikolai Dmitrievich,” Alexander says confidently. Even though I know this is how these proceedings go, it makes me want to scream that he’s trying to claim he’s innocent. “These charges are fabricated. A political move by you and your brother to consolidate power and eliminate a rival who knows too much about certain…irregularities in your own operations.”

Murmurs ripple through the council members and Maksim stiffens beside me. This is a bold accusation—claiming that Nikolai and Maksim are the corrupt ones.

“You claim we’re framing you?” Nikolai’s voice remains calm and controlled, but I can see the fury on his face.

“I claim you’re eliminating a threat to your own ambitions.” Alexander’s blue eyes are hard as he gazes upon his ex-friend. “I’ve served this brotherhood loyally for fifteen years. I’ve earned respect, built connections, and made myself valuable. Perhaps too valuable.” He shrugs. “Perhaps you saw me as competition.”

“Then you deny coordinating with Corsican operatives to undermine this organization?” Nikolai continues.

“Completely.”

“You deny embezzling over sixty million dollars through offshore accounts?”

“Those accounts were used for legitimate international operations. You know that.”

“You deny attempting to assassinate Maksim Sokolov with a car bomb? You deny murdering Len Rodichev?”

Alexander looks puzzled. “Why would I? Maksim is my colleague and friend. The idea is absurd. Len’s death was truly tragic, and I dearly hope the perpetrator is caught soon so Len’s family can get justice.”

“And you deny poisoning Maksim’s seven-year-old son with military-grade neurotoxin?” Nikolai continues as if Alexander hasn’t spoken.

Alexander’s expression shifts to outrage. “I would never harm a child. The accusation is offensive and false. I’m a father of three. Children are precious.”

I grit my teeth. Goddamn, he’s good. His voice rings with wounded dignity. If I didn’t know better, I might believe him.

But I do know better.