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And waits.

Volkov looks at him. Then at me. Then back at him, confused, like a dog that's just been handed a command in a language it doesn't speak.

“Garick,” he tries again. “You were Yaroslav's man. You know how this works...”

“I do.” Garick's voice doesn't rise. “So you'll want to answer her.”

There's a moment where nobody breathes.

Then Volkov looks at me. Properly, for the first time since I walked in.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth, but my voice comes out perfectly level, and I will be proud of that for the rest of my life.

“Where's the money, Stepan?”

He swallows. “In the safe.”

“All of it?”

The pause is a second too long.

“Most of it.”

“Then here's what's going to happen.” I fold my hands on my knee. “Rusakov's trucks are off the north dock by tonight. Every dollar he paid goes into the Maximov accounts by Friday, including the part you spent. You'll pay it back out of your own wages. And from today, Andrei runs the south berths.”

Andrei is the man who stood up when I walked in. He blinks at me.

“Andrei?” Volkov sputters. “Andrei is a boy. He's been here three years.”

I look at the young man over the banister. The card game has stopped and the three of them are looking up at us, unsure of what to do. “Andrei hasn’t forgotten who he works for.”

Volkov turns to Garick again. I watch him do it. I watch him look over my head for the man in charge.

“You're going to let her do this?”

Garick doesn't even glance at him. He's looking at me.

“Don't look at me, Stepan,” he says. “She's the head of the family now.”

“She is a woman,” Volkov spits. “Too emotional to lead a family of such prominence.”

I smile. I can’t help it. I feel Garick step back, opening up the space.

“You forget, Stepan, that anger is also an emotion.”

It happens so fast that all three men in the room, and the ones downstairs don’t have time to react. I’m behind Volkov with one hand fisted in his hair and the other pressing my knife hard against his throat.

“Move,” I say. “I dare you.”

He doesn’t move.

I move my face so my lips are right beside his ear, and I keep my eyes on his men on the level below us, who are still unsure of what to do.

“I might be a woman,” I say, “but I’m my father’s daughter. And if you disrespect me again, they’ll be fishing you out of a river.” I turn his head so he can see his men who still haven’t moved.

I feel the fury rise in Volkov. Humiliation warring with tradition, and both of those warring with his desire to hurt me.

“I understand,” he says through clenched teeth. “But rules are rules, Arina. I was simply following your fathers wishes.”