Page 5

I take it.

Request for audience from Berezin’s daughter. Says she has a proposal. Something about the stability of Nazarov’s seat on the Crown. Wants a meeting.

I read it again.

Berezin’s daughter.

Berezin, who found the venue for the meeting where my brother died. Berezin, who I put in the ground three weeks ago because his name was at the end of every thread I pulled. And now his daughter is sending messages through my channels asking for a meeting like she’s got something to offer me.

I should say no. Every clean instinct I have says no.

“No,” says Marka, already reading my face. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t have to.” He takes the phone back. “She’s Berezin’s daughter. We put a bullet in her father three weeks ago. Whatever she’s calling a proposal, it’s not a fucking proposal.”

I start walking. Marka falls into step, already going at it without waiting to see what mood I’m in.

“She could be wired,” he says. “Could be working with feds, trying to get you on record about Berezin, using the meeting to build a case.”

“She’s not federal. Feds don’t know Yegorov exists.”

“Then she’s just stupid.”

“She’s not stupid either.” I push through the main door, nod at the two men inside. The inner room is already set for the morning briefing, six men around the long table, maps on the walls, nothing on the walls that doesn’t need to be there. I sit at the head and the room shuts up. “She said stability. Not justice, not answers, not what you did to my father. Stability of my seat on the Crown.” I look at Marka. “She’s talking my language.”

Marka sits at the far end, jaw tight, letting it go for now. He pulls up the briefing notes.

We go through it. Queens territory dispute that needs handling before it gets loud. A shipment stuck at the port needs a call to a guy who owes me. Two names flagged as possible informants in the Smekhov operation on our eastern border. I listen, I ask what needs asking, I make the decisions that need making. This is most of what this life is, if I’m honest. Not Pavel. Not the rest of it. Just decisions, one after another, each one carrying the last one on its back.

Lavro used to sit in the chair to my left. He’d say almost nothing through the whole thing, just drink his coffee, and then at the end he’d lean over and say the one thing I’d missed. Always finding that exact one thing. The chair’s been empty for six weeks. I’ve had three different men try to sit in it at various points and each time something in my face made them move without saying a word. It stays empty. I don’t care if that’s irrational. I keep the chair empty. I don’t know anymore if that’s for him or for me.

Three men leave when it’s done. Marka stays.

“Evelina Berezin. Twenty-six,” he says when the door closes. “Columbia Law. No record, no contacts, nothing tying her to anything her father was into.” He drops a folder on the table. “She’s been digging online. Knows what Bratva means now, knows about the Crown. Three weeks ago, she knew none of it. And she went back to Berezin’s apartment twice after we swept it. Both times, she didn’t leave for hours.”

I open the folder. “We missed something.”

“Yeah.”

Her photograph is from her law school profile. Dark hair, pale skin, a mouth that looks like it hasn’t smiled since before she knew how to use it as a weapon. She’s beautiful in a way that’s got nothing soft about it, the kind of face that makes a man’s brain go quiet if he lets it. I’ve fucked women who looked like her.

She’s also Berezin’s daughter. The man who put Lavro in the ground, even if he didn’t pull the trigger himself. Even if he was just the venue, just the logistics, just the link in the chain closest to hand when I needed someone to start with. That’s her father. And she’s sitting in a law school photograph looking like she’s already three moves ahead of whoever’s across from her.

I don’t know what to do with that yet. So I put it down and look at the photograph again.

“She found something in that apartment,” I say.

“That’s my read.”

“And she’s coming here to use it.” I close the folder. “Not as a threat. She’s too smart for that. She’s going to put it on the table and see what I’ll give her for it.”

“Volkov.” Marka leans forward. “Her father stole from us. We dealt with it. If she’s got something from his apartment, it’s ours. She doesn’t get to walk in here and use our own shit against us.”

“She can use whatever she’s holding,” I say. “That’s how this works. Always has.” I push back and stand. “She’s not coming here with nothing. She found something, and she’s smart enough to know she can’t do shit with it on her own.”

“Or she’s coming here to put a bullet in you and die happy.”