Page 164 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“My talents are wasted,” Mikhail says.

Nikolai makes a low sound that might be amusement. Igor does not.

I mute the call.

Tamara nods at the phone still in my hand. “You’re closing the doors now.”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“In the next twelve hours, he’ll find out exactly how much he no longer controls.”

A faint, sharp smile touches her mouth. “Good.”

When she turns to leave, I catch her wrist, long enough for the world to narrow to her pulse beneath my fingers.

She steps closer and presses her mouth to mine. The kiss is brief. Hard. Unsteadying.

“Finish closing the doors,” she says. Then she leaves the study.

I unmute the call. “Start tonight.”

Yakov answers first. “We already did.”

One by one, the lines drop. Yakov first. Nikolai after him. Yuri next, with a promise to send the updated routes in ten minutes.

Mikhail stays on long enough to say, quieter now, “You good?”

Beyond the closed study door, the apartment holds too much life. Anna and Ivan in the guest room. Tamara somewhere between rage and grief. My wife’s mouth still on mine. Her father’s rot spread through all of it.

The old reflex opens again. Not need. Not yet. Isolation first. That was always the cleaner lie.

“No,” I say.

Mikhail goes silent.

Igor says, “Aleks.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Come over.”

No one makes a joke. For once, not even Mikhail.

Igor’s voice comes back steady. “I’m on my way.”

I open my eyes.

The city waits beyond the glass, glittering and merciless. Tomorrow, David Kalinin will sit behind his desk and summon his daughter.

He will believe the room still belongs to him.

He will reach for the first door and find out the world has stopped answering.

38

NO ONE RUSHES TO ANSWER. (TAMARA)

Kalinin Fine Art smells exactly the same. Lemon oil. Old paper. Climate-controlled rooms filled with objects that outlived everyone who ever claimed to own them.