Page 167 of Dark King Daddy

She looked at me.

“The photographs,” I said. “Oleg’s surveillance. Kostya’s knowledge of the building. Kostya had the security code to Volna—a building I own, a building my family has operated for two decades. If he had access to that, he has access to information about every Sokolov property. Including this one.”

“The building code here is different.”

“He was Mikhail’s brother-in-law for twenty years. He attended dinners here. He walked through the front door. He saw the layout, the exits, the stairwells. He may not have the current code, but he has the knowledge.”

Her hand tightened in mine. One squeeze. Brief.

“Where?”

“Salvatore. Yelena’s husband.”

She was quiet. I watched her process it—the shift in her expression, the way her eyes moved from the phone to the window to the hallway.

“Chicago.”

“Sal’s house. Yelena’s there. Security is established—the Scordato compound has been hardened since the Gianni affair. Kostya has no connection to the Scordato organization. The Voronins have no infrastructure in Chicago. Sal’s people will protect you.”

“You want me to leave.”

“I want you safe. For now. There is a difference.”

She held my gaze.

“For how long?”

“A few days. Until we find Kostya. Until we secure the buildings. Until we know what else he has passed to the Voronins.”

“Are you coming?”

The question was simple. The answer was not.

“Yes, but not straight away. As soon as I can.”

She read my face. Whatever she found there—the particular configuration of a man who wanted to say yes, I’m coming with you, I’m walking onto the plane and sitting beside you and we are leaving this city together—she read it and she understood it and she did not like it.

I picked up the phone. I scrolled to Sal’s number. It was eleven-forty at night, but I had a feeling Sal would be awake.

He answered on the second ring.

“Daniil.”

“Sal. I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“Ksenia—my wife. A few days at the house. Starting tomorrow. Voronin surveillance on Dover Street—we have photographs, physical surveillance of her movements. Kostya is compromised. He’s gone missing. I need her out of the city until we find him.”

Sal was quiet for three seconds. I heard the particular silence of a man who had survived his own war and recognized the sound of one beginning.

“Flight?” he said.

“Tomorrow. The earliest you can arrange.”

“I’ll arrange the plane. My people will meet her in Chicago.”

“Tell Yelena.”