“Yeah.”
“And then she got in his car anyway?”
“She’s trying to do it right,” I say scrubbing my hands down my face. “Trying to stand in front of him and talk. Make him see her. Not just her responsibilities to the family.”
Ghost snorts softly. “You think that works with guys like him?”
“No.”
He nods once. “So again. Why let her walk?”
“Because if I blocked her,” I say, keeping my voice even, “I become the same thing. Another man deciding where she goes. Who she listens to. What she’s allowed to choose.” Ghost watches me closely. “She’s lived her whole life under that,” I continue. “Security. Expectations. Plans already made. I’m not adding myself to that list.”
“And you care,” he says.
“Care’s a strong word.”
“Is it?”
I grab my glass and knock back the last of it. “She’s not fragile,” I say. “But she’s been managed. Controlled. Protected in a way that feels more like ownership than safety.”
“And you’re what?” Ghost asks.
“I’m the first guy who didn’t lock the door.”
He rubs his thumb along the label of his beer. “You know what this means, right? If you stay in it.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not dealing with some overbearing dad. You’re dealing with Dragunov.”
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with.”
Ghost studies me for a long second. “And you’re just gonna sit here?”
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, finally looking at him straight on. “Follow them? Pick a fight with a Russian Bratva boss who’s got politicians in his pocket and bodies buried where nobody’s ever gonna find them?”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first dumb move you’ve made.”
A faint breath leaves me. Not quite a laugh. “She needed to go,” I say again. “If she’s ever gonna choose something different, she’s gotta look him in the eye first. On her terms.”
Ghost nods slowly. “You think she’ll come back?”
I don’t answer right away. “She’s got my number,” I say instead.
“And?”
“And if she calls, I’m picking up.”
The bar door opens again, and the shift in noise tells me someone important walked in before I even look.
Mason. He moves through Perdition like he owns the air. Calm. Controlled. People step aside without thinking about it. He’s not loud. He doesn’t need to be. He spots me at the bar and slows. Well, that answers that.
He comes up on my other side, sets his palm on the counter, and nods at Ghost. “You’re looking productive.”
Ghost raises his beer. “I do my best.”
Mason’s gaze shifts to me. It lingers a second longer than normal. “You’re here,” he says.
