“That could be a cover. Smart criminals don’t flaunt their money. Being part of our family, she would know that.”
“It could be. But nothing I’ve observed suggests she’s living beyond her means.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “She received a call today from a blocked number. Her face went white, and she excused herself to another room. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but her demeanor afterward was... distressed.”
“How do you mean?”
“She looked like someone being threatened, not someone coordinating with co-conspirators.”
Dmitri falls silent. Then, “Are you developing doubts about her guilt?”
I think about the woman who patiently taught children to play piano all day. The mother who hugged her daughter and smoothed her hair. The person living in a shabby apartment with a half-empty refrigerator and furniture held together by hope and thread.
“I’m developing questions,” I reply, keeping it vague. “The evidence in her file doesn’t match what I’m observing. That’s all I can say for now.”
“Then find better evidence, one way or the other. The warrant drops in forty-eight hours, Pyotr. If Daria is guilty, I need to know before they come knocking on our doors. If she’s innocent, I need proof I can use to redirect their attention elsewhere.”
“And if I can’t find proof either way?”
“Then she becomes a liability regardless of her guilt. Boris and a team are on standby in St. Petersburg if you need backup. Just say the word.”
Boris Smirnov is a police captain who also serves as the head of Kozlov security. He trained me when I joined the organization four years ago, and I’ve seen firsthand what happens when he’s sent to handle a problem. The man is loyal to the family above all else, and that loyalty doesn’t leave room for mercy.
The implication is clear: If I can’t determine Daria’s innocence, Dmitri will make the problem disappear.
“Understood,” I reply, though something in my chest rebels against the word.
“Keep me updated.”
The line goes dead, and I lower the phone from my ear. I only have forty-eight hours to find the truth about Daria Kozlov before the decision is taken out of my hands.
I turn toward the door and freeze.
Kira is standing in the hallway, clutching Rex the T. Rex to her chest. Her blue eyes are wide and glassy with tears she’s trying not to shed.
“Are you here to take my mama away?” she whispers.
I stare at her small face, at the fear she’s too young to understand but old enough to feel, and guilt twists my gut like a knife.
4
Daria
I refuse to leave my daughter alone with a man who might be here to kill us.
That’s why Kira is bundled into her warmest coat and trudging beside me through the Saturday-morning frost toward the women’s shelter where I volunteer every weekend.
She doesn’t complain about the early hour or the cold. She never does. My daughter has inherited my ability to adapt to circumstances beyond her control, and I don’t know whether to be proud of that or heartbroken.
“Will Miss Natalie be there today?” Kira’s breath forms tiny clouds in the frigid air.
“She should be.”
“Good. She said she’d teach me how to make friendship bracelets.” Kira skips ahead a few steps, then turns to walk backward so she can face me. “Do you think Pyotr would like a friendship bracelet?”
I suppress a snort before I reply, “I don’t think he’s the friendship bracelet type, malyshka.”
“Everyone likes friendship bracelets. That’s why they’re called friendship bracelets.” She spins back around and continues skipping. “I’m going to make him a green one, because green is the color of his favorite dinosaur.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that the man sleeping in our spare room isn’t someone she should be making crafts for. Kira has latched onto Pyotr with the desperate enthusiasm of a child who’s never had a father figure, and I don’t know how to protect her from the inevitable disappointment when he leaves.
