Then she stepped aside. “Good.”
Nadia exhaled only after Galina turned toward the hall.
The private room at the rear of the club belonged to my father in every way that mattered. Dark walls. Heavy desk. Long table. Lamps with amber shades. No windows at street level. A samovar stood on a sideboard with porcelain cups arranged beside it, a domestic touch that had always made violence in that place feel more Russian and more inevitable.
Mikhail Sorin sat at the head of the long table.
He wore a black suit, white shirt, and no tie. His skin looked gray under the lamp, and one hand rested on a cane he would rather shoot a man than admit he needed. Illness had narrowed him. It hadn’t emptied the air around him.
His eyes moved to Nadia.
I felt her hold still beside me.
Mikhail looked at our joined hands. “So this is the girl.”
Nadia’s hand shifted in mine.
I spoke before my father could turn the moment into a test that served no one but him. “This is Nadia Yelchin. She is under my protection by my order and beside me by her choice.”
Mikhail’s eyes came to mine.
He’d called her girl because he wanted to see what I would correct.
Now he knew.
Nadia surprised both of us.
“I’m twenty-three,” she said. “I’m not a girl, and I’m not offended unless you make it a habit.”
Galina made a small sound near the door.
Mikhail looked back at Nadia.
For three heartbeats, no one spoke.
Then my father’s mouth moved as if he were trying not to smile. “You have teeth.”
“I’ve needed them.”
“Yes,” Mikhail said. “I imagine you have.”
Nadia didn’t thank him for understanding. She didn’t soften herself for the old man in the chair or for the power around his name.
I wanted to put my mouth against her throat in front of every man who had ever mistaken female composure for permission.
Instead, I pulled out the chair to my right.
She sat because she chose to sit.
Lev entered with a folder and two phones sealed in clear evidence bags. “The auctioneer is downstairs. He confirmed payment from Kask’s side and the altered lot order before he left the car.”
“Bring him in,” I said.
The auctioneer entered between two of my men without the tuxedo.
He looked smaller in daylight clothing. Silver hair combed back, narrow face drawn tight, expensive shoes moving carefully across a floor he had no control over. I remembered him behind the black podium, calling Nadia’s lot too fast while Gennady smiled from the floor.
Nadia’s hand curled on the table.
