Page 145 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“I will follow your lead with him.”

She looks at me for a long second. Then she nods and disappears into our bedroom.

Our bedroom.

The thought has no place here. It comes anyway.

She returns a few minutes later with a bag over her shoulder. “I threw in a few of your things too.”

Of course she did. Even now, even with her son two hours away and her father moving pieces against him, she remembered socks, a shirt, whatever else my own mind would have reduced to irrelevance.

“Thank you,” I say.

She looks briefly surprised, then turns toward the elevator before either of us can make more of it.

Two minutes later, we are in the garage.

Manhattan slides past and the road opens north. The farther we get from the city, the quieter Tamara becomes.

She sits beside me in the back of the SUV, hands folded in her lap, face turned toward the window. Yuri is in the front passenger seat, answering messages and relaying updates as they come in. Mikhail follows in the second vehicle.

“Anna’s house?” I ask.

“Static,” Yuri says. “Kitchen lights on. Meridian vehicle hasn’t moved. One of Kalinin’s men checked in at an inn outside town.”

Tamara listens to every word.

She does not ask us to slow down. She does not ask for explanations meant to make any of this kinder. Her eyes remain on the window, taking in the language.

Static. Vehicle. House.

Her son.

“He’s in the art program,” Tamara says.

“Yes.”

“Do we know if he’s good?”

I look at her.

She gives a small, helpless movement of one shoulder. “I’m not asking because it matters.”

“I know.”

Her gaze returns to the window. “Mark used to draw.”

The name changes the air in the car.

“He was in medical school,” she says. “He had no time, no money, barely any furniture in that terrible apartment in the Village. But he always had his sketchbook with him.” Her mouth shifts, not quite a smile. “Mostly anatomy studies. Hands. Faces. Coffee cups when he was supposed to be studying.”

I say nothing.

“He used to draw me,” she adds, quieter now. “He could do muscle structure from memory, but my nose defeated him every time.”

A breath leaves her. Almost a laugh. Almost pain.

I close my hand over hers.