“Boss!” Dima’s voice is sharp with concern.
“I’m fine.” I grip my ribs, feeling the blood seep between my fingers. “Flesh wound. Keep moving.”
Boris finds an opening and guns it, tires screaming against asphalt. We break free of the kill zone, but I know this isn’t over.
This was a warning. A demonstration.
Timofey showing me what happens when I don’t play along.
Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling into the underground garage of my building. Safe. Alive. But everything’s changed.
Lev helps me out of the car, his face grim. “Still think we should let this slide, boss?”
I look at the blood on my shirt. Feel the fire in my ribs. Think about Mary upstairs, waiting.
“No,” I say quietly. “I don’t.”
Because Lev was right. I am just like my father.
But maybe it’s time to be something else.
I pull out my phone, scroll until I find the number Ray gave me this morning. The one for “emergencies only.”
This qualifies.
I hit dial.
“That was fast,” Ray’s voice, amused. “Let me guess: the apartment’s not working out?”
“I need more than an apartment.”
The humor dies in his voice. “What kind of more?”
I look at the blood seeping through my fingers. “The kind that requires your old skill set.”
Long pause. “Anton, I told you—I’m out. I’ve got a family now.”
“I’m not asking you to get back in. I’m asking you to make a call. One call.”
“To whom?”
“Someone who can make problems disappear. Permanently.”
Another pause. I can hear him weighing the cost of getting involved.
“What the hell happened?”
“Timofey’s reminding me who’s boss.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then: “Huh. Bold.” Another pause. “I think I know who to call.”
“Good. Because it’s time he remembers who he’s dealing with.”
11
Mary
The overhead lights buzz, the printer coughs.
