Page 171 of Dark King Daddy

I went downstairs. I sent Arkady a text: Dover Street. Half an hour. Bring men.

I sent Nikita a text: Orlov Marine taken. Voronin gunmen. Kostya coordinated. Anton and Arkady coming here first.

Through the hall window, the November morning was still dark. The porch light burned. Boris stood at the corner, visible in the streetlight, his breath making small clouds.

I went into the kitchen and put the coffee on.

Iwas drinking my first cup when Anton’s car pulled up behind mine on Dover Street—a black sedan, its headlights sweeping across the houses. Arkady’s truck stopped behind it, the cab light on, Arkady’s silhouette visible behind the wheel. He was smoking. I could see the ember.

I stood at the kitchen table, looking at the photographs Anton had left there the previous morning. Five images of Ksenia going about her day. Face-down, exactly as he had placed them.

The doorbell rang at five-forty-eight.

I opened the door. Anton stood on the porch. His shirt was buttoned to the collar. He wore a dark coat over a dark jacket and his hands were bare and his knuckles were red from the cold.

Arkady stood behind him. His jacket hung open. His holster was visible. He did not conceal it.

They came in. I poured coffee for Anton. Arkady refused with a shake of his head.

“Talk,” I said.

Anton set his phone on the kitchen table. He opened the text from Kostya. I read it again—the careful language, the strategic framing, the presentation of a betrayal as a rescue.

“He’s put himself in the open,” Anton said. “He’s declared a position. He’s no longer hiding behind intermediaries or carefully worded denials. He sent me this message and signed his name to it.”

“That’s useful,” I said.

“Useful?”

“He’s told us exactly what he is. We don’t need to prove his treachery anymore—he’s announced it. Every captain in the Orlov organization now knows that Kostya has seized the waterfront by force and called it protection. He’s given us the moral authority to take it back.”

“Moral authority.” Anton’s mouth twisted. “Half my father’s captains will see this as strength. The other half will see me as the man who let his uncle take his building while he stood on a sidewalk.”

“Which is why we take it back together. Immediately. This morning. You and me and Arkady, side by side, at the gates of your father’s building. The story doesn’t spread as ‘Anton lost the waterfront.’ It spreads as ‘the alliance responded within hours.’”

Anton looked at me. His jaw worked.

“I spoke to Roman at the hospital,” he said. “He’s discharged. Split lip, bruised ribs, contusions on his back where they put him through the door. He’s angry. He wants to come.”

“He can come. He can stand behind us. He can be the first man through the gate after we clear it. But the first three men through that gate are you, me, and Arkady.”

Anton nodded. A single, deliberate nod.

“I’ll go with Arkady,” he said. “We’ll recover the building. You should take Ksenia to Chicago —”

“No.”

He stopped.

“Why shouldn’t you go with her?” Anton said.

“I think that if the Orlov headquarters is occupied by Voronin gunmen and the Sokolov Pakhan leaves the city the same day, the story writes itself. The alliance is decorative. The marriage is a shield. The new generation cannot defend what the old generation built. Every captain in both organizations hears that story. Every rival hears it. Viktor hears it and knows his strategy is working.”

“And if both of us go?”

“Then the story is different. The Sokolov Pakhan stands beside the Orlov Pakhan at the gates of Orlov Marine. The alliance is not decorative. It is load-bearing. It holds weight. It holds buildings.”

“And afterwards?” Anton asked. “Her flight isn’t until two. You could still take her to the airport.”