Page 169 of Dark King Daddy

“Which building.”

“Orlov Marine. Beard Street. Forty minutes ago. Voronin gunmen—six, maybe eight. They came in vehicles. Two trucks. They secured the loading bay and the ground floor first, then moved upstairs to the administrative offices.”

“Your office.”

“My office. My father’s office. They’re sitting at his desk, Daniil. They’re sitting at the desk where he —”

He stopped. I heard him breathe. Two breaths. Three. The sound of a man forcing his voice back under control.

“Roman was on the night shift,” Anton said. “He refused to surrender the office keys. They split his lip and put him through the front door. He’s at the hospital on Henry Street—not serious, but he was bleeding when I spoke to him. The rest of the night crew was driven out. Twelve men. They were told to go home and not come back.”

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“Minor. Bruises. One man—Grisha, the warehouse foreman—was thrown against the loading bay door. Shoulder injury. He’s with Roman at Henry Street.”

“And the gates?”

“Armed men. Voronin soldiers. They’re controlling the entrance, the loading bay access, and the upper floor. The yard, the warehouse, the offices. Everything.”

I sat up. The bed creaked. Ksenia stirred, a shift in her breathing, a movement of her hand across the sheet.

“Kostya?” I asked.

“He sent me a message. Text. At four-ten—twenty minutes before the takeover. He announced that he is assuming charge of the waterfront business. His words: ‘The alliance with the Sokolovs has endangered the Orlov organization and the families who depend on it. I am taking responsibility for the waterfront to protect our people and preserve your father’s legacy. Do not resist. I am acting in the family’s interest.’”

Anton’s voice broke on legacy. A clean fracture, quickly sealed.

“He’s presenting it as a rescue,” Anton said. “As though he’s saving the company. My father’s company. The company my father built from nothing while Kostya stood beside him and called himself family and —”

“Anton.”

“What.”

“We’re getting it back.”

Silence on the line. I heard the harbor through the phone—wind, water, the distant grind of a container crane.

“Today?” Anton asked.

“Today. This morning. Come to Dover Street first. Half an hour. I’ll call Arkady. We go in together.”

“Roman tried to hold the keys and they put him through a door. If they’ll do that to a man who refused—”

“They won’t get to keep it. We’re taking it back.”

I hung up. I set the phone on the nightstand. I looked at the dark ceiling.

Ksenia’s hand found my arm.

“I’m awake,” she said.

“I know.”

“What’s happened?”

I told her. The words came out flat. Right now there was only the information: Orlov Marine was occupied. Voronin gunmen sat in Mikhail’s office. Roman was at the hospital with a split lip. Kostya had sent a message claiming he was rescuing the company he had helped destroy.

She listened without interrupting. Her hand stayed on my arm. Her grip did not tighten.