Page 163 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“That will be loud,” Igor says.

“I know.”

“And permanent.”

“Good.”

No one argues, because this is not rage. This is logistics.

Kalinin wanted to know whether his usefulness still bought tolerance. By morning, he will have his answer.

I turn from the window as the study door opens.

Tamara stands in the doorway with her phone in one hand, her hair tucked behind one ear, the living room light at her back. I see the girl from the cathedral and the woman from the school steps in the same body.

“Anna went to bed with Ivan,” she says. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“How is she?”

“Destroyed,” she says. “Standing, but destroyed.”

“And you?”

I realize too late that it is the wrong question.

She lifts her phone slightly. “My father texted.”

She hands me the phone.

Papa:

Tomorrow. Ten. Alone. We need to discuss the boy.

Short. Arrogant. Certain of obedience.

Very Kalinin.

“No,” I say.

Wrong answer. I know it before she speaks. I close my hand around the phone, then force it open again and give it back to her.

“I don’t want you to go,” I say.

“That’s different.”

“Yes.”

The correction reaches her. Not enough to forgive the first answer, but enough to matter.

“I need to go.”

“I know.”

“I want to be in the room when he realizes he has nothing left to sell.”

I had forgotten the call was still open until Mikhail says, “For the record, I love this plan.”

Tamara ignores the jab. “You’re outside unless I call you in.”