"You made a deal with Dmitri's men." I let the door close behind me. "Five thousand for Lila's location."
"I don't know what you're?—"
I draw my gun and place it on the counter between us. I don't point it at him. There’s no need to. "Don't lie to me, Mick. I heard everything."
He's shaking now, hands up. "Look, man, I thought she ran off. They offered money?—"
"How much is your life worth?"
"What?"
"Put a number on it. How much would I have to pay you not to sell out the girl who's worked with you for two years?"
He can't answer. He stands there, trembling like a rat in a trap.
"That's what I thought." I pick up the gun and tuck it away. "Here's what's going to happen. If Dmitri's men ask again, tell them she never came back, and that you don't know where she is. Understand?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."
"If you call that number or give them any information, I'll know. And I'll come back here, but not to talk." I lean across the counter. "You think Dmitri's scary? You think five thousand dollars is worth crossing me?"
"No. No. I won't say anything. I swear."
“Good.” I straighten. “And Mick, call her a bitch again, and I’ll make sure that’s the last thing you ever say.”
I leave him, practically pissing himself, and head back into the rain.
The Bentley is parked three blocks away with Misha in the driver's seat, waiting.
"How'd it go?" he asks as I slide in.
"Message delivered. Mikhail will live, but he'll remember who runs this city."
"And the diner situation?"
"Handled." I peel off my wet jacket. "But we have a problem. Dmitri's involving the other families."
Misha's jaw tightens.
"Probably because of Lila."
Misha drives in silence for a while, processing the situation.
"The men are loyal to you. They'll follow your lead, even if the other families object. But if Dmitri frames this as weakness..." He trails off, face unreadable.
"Then I'll prove my strength by crushing him." Simple. Direct. The only language the Bratva understands. "Set up a meeting with the captains soon. I want everyone to know where I stand."
"They won't like it."
"They don't have to like it, but they’ll accept it." I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "And if they can't accept it, they can challenge me. We'll see how that works out for them."
10
LILA
The sketchbook’s almost full.
The expensive one Ivan bought me—the one meant to last weeks. I blew through it in four days. Almost every page smudged with graphite, every corner crowded with lines and shadows, the frantic scribbles of someone who's losing it in a luxury cage.
