When she comes downstairs in a fitted dress of black silk, her hair pinned up, I forget about every damn tactical thought I had.
She looks like apakhan’sdaughter.
She looks like who she is.
I can’t say with total certainty how the meeting is going to go. The council is meant to be peaceful, a place where some of the deadliest men in the city can speak without fear of open reprisal.
But tonight all bets are off. No weapons are allowed at the meeting—technically—but I’m going to be ready for anything.
Outside, the weather is miserable. It’s a cold late spring evening, rain hammering the city. The streets are slick and black, headlights flashing off puddles.
We’re seated in the back of my bulletproof limo, moving through Manhattan at a crawl, the traffic backed up from the crowd from some Broadway show spilling into the street despite the weather.
Thea is beside me. There is at least six inches of space between us, which I know she needs. She’s bent over the folder that Amanda delivered this morning. It’s full of documents, records, photographs—everything we’ll need to prove to the council that Thea is who she is.
I watch her as she reads, as her fingers trace the birth certificate. Teodora Fetisova. Born in Brooklyn, October 14. Mother: Masha Fetisova. Father: Lev Fetisov.
Her handwriting is small and precise as she takes copious notes. It reminds me of her father, how he’d always bring his little black notebook to our meetings, jotting down whatever he thought was important. Her mind works just like his; I’m seeing it more and more.
She turns another page and stills. It’s a photograph.
I know which one—I’ve looked at it many times. It’s a family photograph from a 1999 Christmas party at the Fetisov home, Lev and Masha standing with their three children.
Thea stares at the photo for a long time.
“That’s me,” she says quietly.
“Yes.”
“I have my mother’s eyes.”
“You do.”
“And my father’s—” She touches the photograph. Lev was forty-one years old. He’s laughing in the picture. He was tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of man who took up space without intending to. “His smile.”
I say nothing. Then she raises her eyes to me.
“What was he like? I don’t remember much.”
I sit back, letting the memories wash over me. I watch as the rainfall hits against the windows, Lev appearing in my mind’s eye.
“He was serious. More than a little intimidating to an upstart like me. But when it came to his children, he was a different man entirely—perhaps the realLev. He was less like the cold, ruthlesspakhanthat the whole city feared and more like a teddy bear.”
She smiles.
“And he was a good man. You may not think men like us have honor, but many do. And he was one of them. He was also brilliant.”
I sigh. I’d always thought it was a sick joke that a good man like Lev could be taken by scum like Kolya.
The limo moves through traffic, and before too long, I spot our destination up ahead.
“I’ll tell you more about the rest of your family,” I say. “But such a conversation isn’t for the moments before what we’re tasked with tonight.”
Her smile fades and she nods.
I watch as she turns another page, revealing a police report from the night of the massacre. I’d almost stopped Amanda from including it, but Thea had insisted on knowing everything. All of it. Even the ugly parts.
She reads it slowly. I watch her expression shift to horror, then grief. Then anger.Then rage.
