Page 95 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

The words do not cut, they confirm.

Useful.

That is all I have ever been allowed to be to him. A daughter useful for obedience. A wife useful for access. A mother useful because my child can be held just out of reach.

I fold the photograph back into the envelope. It gives my hands something to do. “And if I refuse?”

Papa’s expression remains mild. “Stability is a delicate thing.”

The words strike clean. I look at him. He continues as if discussing a shipping schedule.

“People make lives around the conditions they are given. A good arrangement can last for years, provided no one makes it difficult to maintain.”

A good arrangement. My son’s life, reduced to logistics.

“You said he was safe.”

“He is.”

The answer comes too smoothly.

“For now?”

Papa’s eyes sharpen with satisfaction. He likes that I heard it. “For as long as everyone behaves sensibly.”

I want to stand. I want to throw the photograph in his face. I want to ask him whether Mark screamed when he died. Whether Pavel Morozov knew the baby was mine. Whether the infant they put in my arms had a mother somewhere who also never received the truth.

I ask none of it. Not because I am calm. Because rage is information too. And I will not give him any.

“Come back Friday. Bring me something I can work with.”

“Meaning?”

He inclines his head. “Whether Aleksander considers Bellweather closed. Whether Yuri is reviewing old routes. Whether his brother questions the alliance.”

“Which brother?”

“That is what you will tell me.”

I glance toward the closed office door. Papa follows my gaze. “Do you think they are loyal to you?”

“Probably not.” That answer surprises him. “They’re loyal to Aleksander,” I add. “That’s much better.”

Papa’s eyes narrow slightly. “So you understand something after all.”

He studies me for another long moment. Then he stands. The meeting is over because he has decided it is. I rise more slowly, keeping the envelope in my hand. “May I keep this?”

His gaze drops to the photograph. “Yes.”

The answer comes too easily. Because he thinks it is a leash.

“For good behavior?” I ask.

His smile is faint. “For encouragement.”

I slide the envelope into my pocket. “Friday, then.”

“Tamara.”