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The grandmother comes out of the kitchen, kisses Arina on both cheeks this time, says something rapid in Georgian, and disappears again.

“What did she say?” Arina demands.

“That you're too thin.”

“That was a lot of words for too thin,” she mutters.

“She was very passionate about it.”

The truth is that she said Arina has the eyes of a woman who knows how to bury a body, and that I should marry her before somebody else does. But I keep that to myself.

Arina pours her own wine before I can do it for her. Her hand is steady. This morning at the warehouse, standing under the loading bay, it was shaking so badly she had to hide it in her pocket.

I've been thinking about this morning for ten hours.

Mostly about the way she moved. One second, she was standing with her hands at her sides. The next, she had a fistful of Volkov's hair and her father's knife against his throat, and every man in that warehouse forgot how to breathe.

“You're staring,” she says.

“I was just thinking about how you put a knife to Stepan Volkov's throat today.”

She snorts out a sound of derision. “He was being rude.”

“He's been rude for fifteen years. Nobody's ever done anything about it.”

“Nobody's ever been me.” She tears a piece of bread in half. Then she glances up, and something uncertain flickers behind the defiance. “Was it too much?”

It's the first time she's asked me anything that wasn't an accusation.

“No,” I say. “It was exactly enough. Every man on your father's payroll will hear about it by morning.”

“Good.”

“And every man on Rusakov's.”

She goes quiet. Turns her wine glass slowly on the tablecloth, the same way her father used to turn his when he was thinking about something.

“I know,” she says.

My phone buzzes against the table.

Timur.

Timur doesn't call me when I'm at dinner with Arina. He's made very clear over the past two days that he considers these dinners sacred, mostly because he's placing bets on them with half the men we work with.

I answer. “What.”

“Port District.” He's in a car. I can hear the engine straining. “Andrei called fifteen minutes ago. Rusakov's trucks didn't leave the north dock. Volkov turned up with four of Rusakov's men and told Andrei to open the gates. Andrei said no.”

“And?”

“And now Andrei isn't answering his phone.”

I look across the table at Arina. She's watching my face. Whatever she sees there makes her set her glass down very carefully.

“How long?” I ask.

“I'm ten minutes out. I've got Kolya and Mika with me.”