His lips parted, then closed. His throat bobbed.
Didn’t need the answer.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “That’s what I thought.”
I leaned back slightly, fingers still interlaced near my mouth, studying him like a problem I already knew the solution to.
“So,” I said calmly, “this is how it’s going to work.”
His eyes flicked up to mine. Didn’t like what he saw there.
“I’m going to come back here,” I continued, voice light, almost conversational. “I won’t tell you when. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. Surprise visits. I love those.”
He swallowed hard.
“And when I do,” I went on, “I expect you to be doing your actual fucking job. Not sedating her into a decorative plant. Not drugging her into compliance. I mean real treatment. Medication that helps. Therapy that does something. Not whatever chemical lobotomy you’re getting paid to perform right now.”
His hands were shaking openly now.
“I know exactly what this place is,” I said, tone sharpening just enough to cut. “I know you’re being paid very well to keep her quiet, compliant, and conveniently absent from the world. But that arrangement? It’s over.”
I leaned forward, boots scraping softly against the desk as I shifted.
“The next time I walk in here, I want to be able to talk to her. And the time after that, I want to be talking about getting her the hell out of this place.”
He tried to speak. Failed. Tried again.
“I—I understand,” he said finally, voice thin.
“Good,” I replied. “Because if you don’t follow my instructions, you already know what happens.”
I tilted my head, studying the sweat sliding down his temple.
“And just so we’re crystal clear,” I added mildly, “if you decide to get brave and tell Sokolov about me—if you think cutting a deal might save you—don’t worry. I have men behind me. Very capable men. If something happens to me, they’ll finish what I started.”
He nodded too fast. Once. Twice.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. I’ll do it. I swear.”
I stood, smoothing my jacket like we’d just wrapped up a pleasant business meeting.
“Great,” I said, turning toward the door.
Then I paused and glanced back at him.
“Great talk,” I added casually. “No fainting, no pissing. You’re exceeding expectations.”
29
The Cost of Silence
—Maksym—
When the call finally came, I was in the courtyard, chain-smoking like a lunatic.
“Maksym,” Rothman said. “We might have something.”
My chest clenched. “Talk.”
