Page 144 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“Yes. Anna picked him up at the usual time. We have eyes on both.”

Tamara releases the chair and folds both hands at her sides. “So he isn’t warning her,” she says.

“No,” I say. “He’s making sure she doesn’t know there’s anything to fear.”

“The art program runs until four-thirty,” Yuri continues. “Lower staffing, side entrance, more pickup confusion. If Orlov arrives tomorrow with a matching ID, the school releases Ivan. Anna learns there was confusion after he’s already gone.”

The room goes cold around us. A clean removal. No broken door. No struggle. No screaming.

A form. A polite woman. A child handed over because the paperwork said he belonged to someone else.

Exactly David Kalinin’s style.

I look at the new table, the four chairs, the bare wall above the fireplace. Less than an hour ago, Tamara was making this room warmer with rugs and lamps and small, decisive choices, making space for herself inside it. Now her father has reached through a school database in Woodstock and reminded us that he still knows how to enter a room without stepping inside.

“We’re leaving now,” I say. “The house in Woodstock?”

“Already staffed. Your car will be ready in ten minutes.”

I end the call and start typing. Tamara looks at me. “What house?”

“Rental outside Woodstock. Yuri keeps options.”

I send Mikhail a message.

Me:

Kalinin is moving. We leave now.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Mikhail:

I’ll follow in a second car.

Tamara’s hand is still gripping the chair. I notice because I notice everything about her now, whether I want to or not.

“Pack an overnight bag,” I say.

“Okay.”

“We may not be there long.”

“I know.”

There are things I want to tell her. That I will stop him. That I will bring her son to her. That David Kalinin will regret every breath he took after deciding to touch her baby.

All of that is true.

None of it is the promise she needs.

“If he moves, we stop him,” I say.

“Yes.”

“But we do not decide what happens to Ivan before we see what he needs.”

Her fingers loosen on the chair. The control in her face thins, and I see the wound beneath it. I touch the back of her neck, just once, my thumb brushing beneath her hair.