Page 158 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

For Anna standing terrified in the center of it. For the child sleeping down the hall. For Tamara, who has not touched her son because another mother’s arms are the only safe place he knows tonight.

Tamara did not fix this room. She made it capable of holding what arrived.

“For now, yes,” I tell Anna, finally. “He is safe.”

Her mouth tightens because the answer is honest enough to frighten her.

I keep my voice calm. “The building has private elevator access, lobby cameras, garage coverage, and service corridor coverage. My men are in the lobby, outside the building, and downstairs. If anyone comes near this address, we’ll know before they reach the front desk.”

She blinks. “And tomorrow?”

“We make tomorrow safer than today.”

She gives a short, humorless breath. “That sounds expensive.”

“It is.”

“I cannot pay for expensive.”

“You won’t have to.”

Her eyes sharpen. “Why are you helping me?”

Tamara takes another step toward her. “Please sit down, Anna.”

“We will not hurt either of you,” I say, handing Anna a glass of water.

She eyes it with understandable suspicion.

“If harm were the goal, you wouldn’t be sitting in my living room with your son asleep behind a locked door and your phone in your pocket.” I nod at the glass. “Drink.”

Anna stares at me for another second. Then she takes the water and lowers herself beside Tamara.

The drive from Woodstock sits between us, unspoken but present. Ivan crying in the back seat, trying to swallow every sound until his body gave up and shook against Anna’s side. Anna holding him with both arms, answering questions she could not possibly answer. Tamara sitting beside them with her palms locked in her lap, watching her son bury his face in another woman’s coat and refusing to reach for him.

Once, near the bridge, Ivan lifted his head and asked who we were. Anna answered without hesitation.

“People helping us.”

The boy believed her because she is his mother. Tamara looked out the window after that and did not move for the rest of the drive.

Now Anna sits in my living room, still angled toward the hallway as though she might need to run back to him at any second. She looks tired enough to collapse and angry enough to stay upright for days.

“When can we go home?” she asks.

“Not soon.”

Anna hears the answer exactly as I intend it. “What does he want?”

I let her take a sip of water before answering.

“David Kalinin was planning to take Ivan.”

Anna lowers the glass to the table. Ice strikes the side, water spilling over. She turns to Tamara, studies her. Not her clothes or her hands or the wedding ring. Her eyes.

Pale gray, ringed darker at the edge. I watch the realization reach her.

“Why?” Her words are barely audible.