“She stays,” I say, “and that’s final.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then she sighs and picks up her briefcase from the chair.
“Fine. I’ve done my due diligence. What more can I say other than this: When all this blows up in your face—and itwillblow up in your face—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She glances away, something else on her mind.
“What is it?”
She looks at me with the corner of her mouth curved in that particular way I’ve seen so many times before.
I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“You don’t need to do this. If it’s company you want, Gabriel, just say the word.”
“Amanda.”
“Why did we end what we had?” she muses out loud. “I seem to remember having quite a bit of fun, and so did you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Enough.”
“Just once,” she goes on. “For old time’s sake, I’ll be quiet, if you’re worried about her hearing.”
“I said,enough.”
The little curve vanishes from the corner of her mouth, and she huffs, squaring her shoulders.
“Whatever. You’re a fool when it comes to such matters, Gabriel. You always have been.”
“Is this part of the expertise I’m paying you for?”
“No, consider this one pro bono.” She throws her briefcase strap over her shoulder and starts toward the door once again. But when she reaches it, she stops and turns. “Gabriel.”
“What.”
“This thing with her,” she says, a trace of hesitation in her voice. “Whatever it is, be careful. You’re not…” She pauses, weighing her words carefully. “You’re not the kind of man who gets to have something soft and tender. You know that, right?”
I hold her gaze.
“Goodbye, Amanda.”
With that, she leaves, the door closing behind her.
I stand there, alone, silence pressing in.
Thirty days.
Thirty days to dismantle Kolya, to secure the council’s support, to reshape the Bratva’s leadership and ensure that Thea is safe.
Thirty days to figure out how to tell her the truth without losing her.
I move back to my desk and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a file that I haven’t touched in years—faded photographs,witness statements, and police reports from a massacre that was never fully investigated.
A single picture falls from the file.
It’s of five-year-old Teodora Fetisov, standing between her parents at a family event. Her mother’s hand rests on her shoulder, her father’s arm around his wife’s waist.
She looks happy.
