“Your intentions.” I take a small sip of water. “Now that Gustav’s Yellow Card year has expired, I need to know whether he’s still on the Council’s radar. Or if we can finally breathe without your shadow looming over our lives.”
He exhales sharply, annoyed. “The Council oversees a fragile network of international crime organizations. If one familydestabilizes itself, or threatens others, all suffer. Gustav is unpredictable. Dangerous. He always will be. That risk doesn’t simply disappear because his year ended.”
I smile again. This time it’s pitying.
“I thought you’d say that,” I murmur. “Which is unfortunate for you.”
He stiffens. “For me? I hope you realize you arethreateninga Council member. You are asking for death.”
I lean forward. “I already spoke with the Council.”
The shock on his face is immediate and satisfying. “You spoke with—what? When? I would’ve been notified.”
“Not anymore.”
He opens his mouth. I continue, unbothered.
“I reported you for allowing your personal grudge against Magnus Sokolov to poison your professional judgment. I brought evidence, documentation, and two witnesses confirming you sabotaged Gustav, not tested him.” I fold my hands neatly. “They agreed.”
“You—” He chokes on the word. “You lied to them.”
“No.” I tap my water glass. “I told them the truth you hoped would stay buried. Including what happened in the Pripyat forest.”
His face drains of color. “That wasn’t—”
“You unleashed the wildmen on us because you thought nobody would find out. Except they weren’t just a small rogue group. They’re a rising faction, rapidly organizing, rapidly growing, and no longer content being an irritation on the map.” I tilt my head. “I told the Council their leader deserves recognition. And oversight.”
“No,” Rupert mutters, finally understanding.
“Yes. His name is Nikolai. Calls himself a forest viking. He survived Gustav’s bullet-wound, but wasn’t mad. Says a deal was a deal.” A small thrill passes through me. Memories of thatterrifying, yet handsome savage in the forest flicker like heat lightning. “So I told the Council Nikolai deserves a red card.”
Rupert’s expression tightens.
“Do you know what red card law is?” I ask sweetly.
His voice turns arrogant, clipped. “A new bratva boss is given five established mafia leaders to join his family. To mentor. Strengthen. Help more safely build their empire.”
“Mm-hm.” My smile slides into something lethal. “And Nikolai was thrilled.”
Rupert’s eyes snap to mine.
“He especially liked the idea of a Council member joining him,” I whisper. “A soft one. One who hides behind rules he manipulates. One named Rupert.”
For the first time since I met him, Rupert looks afraid.
“You didn’t,” he breathes.
“I did,” I reply. “I showed him your picture. He agreed instantly.”
“No,” he whispers. “No, no—”
Two dark-suited Council enforcers appear at the edge of the patio. Their faces calm. Their grip absolute. Rupert doesn’t get a chance to stand before they seize his arms and haul him upward.
He thrashes. “You can’t send me to him! Peighton, you can’t—”
“You did this to yourself,” I say softly.
His face contorts with rage and fear as they drag him away, heading toward a black sedan waiting by the curb. The door slams shut, and Rupert’s voice disappears beneath the rumble of the engine as it pulls away.
