Page 146 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“He argued with Anna in one of the surveillance photos,” I say.

Tamara turns to me.

“Outside the school. He was holding a folder. She was trying to zip his coat. He had objections.”

Her face changes. “Did he win?”

“No. She zipped the coat.”

A small laugh gets out of her. It hurts her, I can hear that, but it is real.

Yuri says nothing from the front seat.

Good.

The rented house sits off a narrow road outside Woodstock, half hidden by bare trees and winter-dark shrubs. It is neither charming nor ugly. A house selected by men who care about exits, elevation, and how far sound carries.

Inside, the place is already working.

Two men near the back entrance. Another at the dining table with a laptop. A woman in a dark sweater hands Yuri a tablet, school pickup procedures open on the screen.

Not muscle.

Access.

No one asks why Tamara is here.

I take the tablet from Yuri. “Show me.”

He brings up the map. Anna’s house. The school. The art program entrance. The Meridian vehicle. Two likely routes out of town.

Tamara stands beside me and looks at the map without speaking.

Home. School. Art. Home.

A child’s day, turned into a trap.

“Status,” I say.

Yuri keeps it brief. “Anna and Ivan are home. Team has eyes on the house. The Meridian vehicle hasn’t moved. Kalinin’s man is at the inn. School is closed for the night.”

“Teams tomorrow,” I say. “Cordon around the school before dismissal. No weapons visible. Nothing moves near Ivan unless Kalinin’s people initiate contact. If the school releases him to Anna, we do nothing.”

Yuri nods once. “Understood.”

Mikhail arrives twenty minutes after us with coffee, food, and enough commentary to irritate everyone into eating something. Then the house settles into watchfulness.

Hours pass.

The Meridian vehicle stays parked. Anna’s house goes dark. The school remains empty. Kalinin does not call.

At ten-thirty, Tamara leaves the table.

I wait three minutes before following, which is either restraint or cowardice.

She’s in the kitchen, standing by the sink with a mug of tea she has not drunk. The overhead light is harsh, flattening the color from her face.

I lean against the counter beside her.