Page 119 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“I will not make a scene with you in front of your son.”

It is hard to swallow.

“But I will stand between you and the worst moment of your life if you ask me to.”

“And if I don’t ask?”

“Then I will remind you who you are.”

I should pull away from him. I don’t. “Who am I?”

“You are not your father.” His voice lowers. “You will not take a child from the life he knows because your pain is bigger than his peace.”

The words find the exact place I didn’t want touched.

They hurt.

They also steady me.

My hands loosen slowly from his sweater. “That was cruel.”

“Yes.”

“Necessary too.”

“Yes.”

He kisses me once more, softer this time, at the corner of my mouth. Then my cheek. Then he steps back because if he does not, I will not.

“We have an appointment at one.” His voice is almost normal again. “Architectural salvage outside Kingston. The owner restores ironwork, lighting, mantels, old doors. If anyone asks, you are looking for pieces for the apartment.”

“Our cover is antique shopping.”

“Our cover is your professional opinion.”

“That sounds more expensive.”

“It is.”

This time, the laugh makes it out.

It’s small.

It counts.

The drive north begins in a disciplined, thick silence, filling the space between us in the back of the SUV while Manhattan breaks apart into bridges, traffic, industrial edges, then the long gray ribbon of road leading out of the city.

Aleksander doesn’t work. His phone remains in his hand, but he doesn’t answer messages unless they appear from Yuri or Igor, and even then he reads them without changing his expression. I know this because I watch him when I am not watching the window.

The city thins. Buildings lower. The sky widens. Snow lies in dirty seams along the shoulder, half melted from a mild day. I try to count things. Mile markers. Trucks. Exit numbers. Anything linear. Anything that will keep my mind from arriving before my body does.

It doesn’t work.

“Does Anna pick him up every day?” I ask.

“Mostly. She’s normally not in school on Wednesdays, her parents might handle pickup today.”

I nod, though the answer opens another room inside me, and that room is full of knives. “Do you think he is happy?”