“You know,” I say loudly, “for a criminal mastermind you talk a lot.”
His pale eyes slide toward me.
“I’ve noticed that about villains,” I continue. “They love explaining their plan. Very theatrical.”
One of the guards snorts.
Vladimir Pavlov smiles faintly. “You want to understand why this is happening,” he says.
“Wouldn’t you?” I answer. “You kidnapped my kid. I’d like to know the motivation before I write the Yelp review.”
His smile widens slightly. “Curiosity is dangerous, Ms. Hartwell. Just ask the cat.”
“Kidnapping is illegal,” I shoot back. “Yet here we are.”
Behind my back, the key scrapes carefully against the rope.
One fiber gives.
Pavlov walks a slow circle around the room.
“What do you know about the Borough War?” he asks.
I blink. I hadn’t expected that question. “Only that Nico’s mother died in it.”
Something dark flickers in his expression. “Yes,” he says, with a bit of enthusiasm. “She did.”
My fingers keep sawing at the rope.
“What you do not know,” he continues, “is that the war did not start the way people believe.”
I glance at him.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re about to tell me it was all part of some brilliant plan.”
“It was,” he agrees easily. “My father’s plan. Igor Pavlov. A visionary man.”
The rope shifts slightly under the key.
Another thread loosens.
“The Italians controlled New York then,” Vladimir continues. “Five families. Five boroughs. But there was constant infighting. They kept weakening each other. Not enough to be overtaken, but plenty of good soldiers got lost in their territorial scuffs.”
His eyes flick briefly toward me.
“My father understood something they did not.”
“What’s that?”
“That chaos can be encouraged.”
My stomach tightens.
“The inciting incident of the Borough War,” he says calmly, “was the death of the Neri queen.”
My hands freeze for half a second. “Nico’s mother.”
“Yes.” His voice is almost conversational now. “My father had me pull the trigger.”
