He doesn't find one.
Victor leans back against the red velvet cushions, creating distance, though his pale eyes never leave mine. His chest rises and falls with deliberate slowness, the controlled breathing of a man forcing himself to appear calm. One hand moves to adjust his reading glasses, a nervous tell he probably doesn't realize he has, the thin gold chain swaying slightly with the movement.
More seconds tick by. His jaw works beneath the papery skin of his cheeks, grinding over words he's not ready to speak.
His hand hovers over the money for a moment, fingers trembling with something that might be rage or might be fear. The papery skin of his knuckles stretches white as he grips the edge of the case, and I watch his throat move as he swallows whatever pride he has left. Finally, with a sigh that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest, Victor brushes his fingers against the stacks of bills, riffling through them with the practiced ease of a man who has handled a great deal of money in his life.
"You understand that this changes nothing." His voice has lost some of its softness, hardened by the reality of what's happening. "The Bellrose debt is a small piece of my portfolio. A gesture, nothing more. The networks I've built, the connections I've cultivated, those remain intact."
I sigh with the energy of not giving a damn about what he has to say. "For now."
His eyes snap to mine, and for the first time tonight, I see something other than cold calculation in their depths. Anger, maybe. Or fear dressed up as defiance.
"Debts don't disappear just because someone else pays them, Mr. Moses." He closes the briefcase with a snap. "They transform. What you owe me now, that's something else entirely. Something I will collect when the time is right."
I slide out of the booth and stand, looking down at him. This perspective matters. The image of a powerful man reduced to sitting while I tower over him says everything about who holds the power now
"You're a collector, Victor. That's what you do. You collect debts and you collect people and you think that makes you powerful." I button my jacket, smoothing the fabric that his guard wrinkled when he grabbed me. "But here's something you should remember. Collectors can be collected on. And I know exactly what you're worth."
I turn and walk toward the exit, Luca falling into step beside me. Our footsteps on the marble are deliberate and unhurried. Behind us, I can hear Victor calling for someone to help the injured guards, his voice tight with the strain of maintaining composure. The remaining patrons press themselves against the walls as we pass, giving us a wide berth, their faces masks of carefully neutral fear.
Outside, the air tastes like victory and impending rain. The two guards we left at the door have been moved, probably dragged inside by staff who didn't want the bad publicity of bodies on the sidewalk. Smart. Victor's people are efficient, if nothing else.
"That went well," Luca observes as we walk toward the car. "Only five people hospitalized. New personal best."
"The night's young."
He laughs, that dark sound that reminds me why we became brothers in the first place. "What's next?"
I think about the wish burning in my breast pocket. The round letters of her handwriting. The desperation that drove her to drop her hope into a box and pray for someone to answer.
I answered.
"Now I go collect what's mine." I open the car door and slide into the driver's seat. Luca takes shotgun.
"Find out everything you can about Markov's connection to Victor. I want to know how deep this network runs and who's pulling the strings."
"Done." Luca pulls out his phone, fingers already flying across the screen. "And the girl? You're going to her tonight?"
I start the engine, watching the lights of Tsarina grow smaller in the rearview mirror. Victor Kedrov stands in the doorway, his silhouette framed by warm light, his pale eyes tracking our departure with the patience of a predator who has been embarrassed in his own territory.
Let him watch. Let him remember this night and what it cost him.
"Tomorrow." My fingers tighten on the wheel. "I need to figure out how to tell a woman I just bought her freedom that she now belongs to me. In the meantime, get Kon on the phone, would you? Ask him to sit on her apartment building and make sure Kedrov doesn’t get stupid."
“Done.” Luca’s fingers don’t stop flying over his phone’s screen.
The wish sits heavy against my heart, as I weave through traffic. Chicago spreads before us in ribbons of light and shadow and I can’t help but think a war brews on the horizon with factions that smell blood in the water.
And somewhere in this city, Katriana sleeps without any idea that her life is about to change.
I bought her freedom tonight.
Tomorrow, I collect.
Six
Drake
