“Shut up,” Misha snaps, kicking Denis’s leg. He goes silent, the chair creaks as he continues to struggle. “The Albanians aren’t on my list. Permission hasnotbeen granted. Meaning, you sidestepped me. Thought you could help those dogs piss on my territory.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Denis rushes out. “I swear. I—I didn’t think it was a big deal,” stammers, his breathing loud and uneven. “Your boss. He’s in with the Albanians now.”
“He is,” I bite out. “I’m not.”
“He’s still the one in charge. Not you. You can’t blame me for going to them.”
“This has nothing to do with blame,” I tell him. “It’s about me fixing your mistake so it never happens again.”
The color drains from his face. “What the fuck does that mean?”
I look over at Misha, already reaching for his Glock. Denis starts to scream the second he sees it. “No–no, wait. Wait. Ivanov, please. I can fix this.”
“What happened to talking about my mother?” I ask, peering at him. “You were brave and funny a minute ago. Why so scared?”
“I’m sorry,” Denis sobs. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“What do you think will happen if I let this slide and let you live?”
“I’ll stop messing with the Albanians,” he cries out. “Only buy from dealers you approve of. I did it for years, Ivanov. I can do it again.”
“Denis,” I say, shaking my head. “If I let you live, every dealer will try to test their limit, see if they can get one over on me. Denis did it and lived, why not them. I let this slide and that’s the beginning of me losing control.”
“Please.” He’s openly crying now. “I’ll even tell you everything I know about the Albanians. I’ll give you names. Contacts. Don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Fuck off,” I snap. “I don’t need information from you.” My eyes drop to his wrist. “Give me the watch.”
Misha tears it off before Denis can finish nodding. “Y–yeah. Take it. It’s a Rolex. Does that mean we’re even?”
“No.”
I pocket it. Rolex or not, I don’t keep shit from people I had to deal with. The river can have it later. Him too.
“Make it clean,” I tell Misha as I turn for the door.
The shot cracks behind me before I make it halfway down the hall. I don’t look back.
Tonight, I take the long way home, changing streets, doubling back and checking my mirrors as always to see if I’mbeing followed by my father’s men. When I walk into the apartment, Nala’s at the table with a Russian workbook open in front of her. One sheet is filled with Cyrillic letters, the other with English notes beside them. She’s frowning, tapping a pen against her mouth and completely unaware of me.
I pause in the doorway. I can watch her like this, look my fill for these few seconds before I have to rein in this thing, I keep feeling when I’m around her.
She leans closer to the table, a loose curl falling forward as she sounds out the word under her breath. She looks up, suddenly aware of my presence and turns. She drops the pen and smiles, a
genuine one because I can tell she’s actually happy to see me. Nala doesn’t know how to hide what she feels.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
"How's the alphabet going?" I ask, forcing myself to look at the workbook instead of her face.
"It’s okay." She glances at the paper. "I keep getting the letters mixed up. They’re kind of confusing."
"That’s normal,” I reassure her, jokingly adding. “I still get them mixed up.”
She smiles wider. "You don’t.”
“Alright,” I mutter, stepping closer. “Let me see.”
She points to a letter. "Is this right?"
