“I’ll need to be there.” Tomorrow. Nina’s procedure is at ten. I can make both, but the timing will be tight.
“Will you?” Tatiana tilts her head, studying me. “You say it like an obligation you’d rather avoid.”
I keep my expression neutral.
“Ah.” Her smile returns. “Something else tomorrow. Something more important than showing up for your asset’s arraignment.” She leans back, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll argue for reasonable bail. Standard for GTA.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Make the standard arguments for reasonable bail, but don’t push too hard. Lean on the ADA to request maximum. Flight risk, pattern of violence, ties to criminal organizations. Half a million at least.”
“That kind of pressure leaves traces.”
“Small ones. But I need to stay inside for Vera.” She shrugs. “The Agency can arrange for me to make bail eventually—after she’s out and grateful.”
“When’s her transfer?”
“Middle of next week if her daddy’s lawyers don’t intervene. Either way, I need at least seven days inside to make this stick.”
“And then?”
“Then Mikhail remembers who protected his little girl. Trusts me with other things he values more.” Tatiana’s smile sharpens. “Mikhail’s going to need new people when he takes Dragonov’s offer. Loyal people who proved themselves already.”
“A week inside is too long. Too much can go wrong.”
She laughs, sharp and bitter. “Worried about me? How sweet. How very... paternal.”
Paternal. Christ.
“You have a bruised face and split knuckles.”
“From winning.” Her gaze tracks across my jaw, the scrapes on my hands I haven’t bothered to hide. “You want to lecture me about bruises, Handler? Have you looked in a mirror?”
“This isn’t about me…”
She lets out a frustrated huff, then stands, chair scraping against concrete. “You want to know what happened? Three Armenian Power affiliates decided to corner Vera in the rec area. Teach the Russian princess about respect.”
I catalog the injuries I can see, the way she’s holding her ribs.
“So I intervened. Made it clear she was under my protection.” Her smile is all teeth.
“You could have?—”
“What? Died? Been violated? All the things you’re so worried about?” She moves to the door, pauses. “Let me tell you something, Handler. Before Belgrade, before the Corlukas, I survived three years in Moldovan state custody. You know what they do to pretty Serb girls in Moldovan prisons?”
I don’t answer.
“Everything you’re imagining and worse. But I survived. Learned to be the nightmare instead of the victim.” She knocks on the door for the guard.
“Tatiana—”
The door opens. The guard’s already reaching for her arm.
“One week,” she says. “I need one week to get what we really need. Then you can play white knight if it makes you feel better.”
She’s gone before I can respond.
I sit in the empty room for another minute, then stand. The guard lets me out. The paperwork at the front desk takes forever—forms to sign, next steps to confirm. Playing lawyer means playing it all the way through.
