"Enough of the family reunion," Boris says, setting his glass down with a heavy click. He looks at Irina, a cold, mocking smirk touching his lips. "You look tired, Irina. Did you have a nice drive? I hear the roads near the canal can be quite treacherous."
"Where is he?" Irina snaps, her voice shaking but her blue eyes flashing with fury. "Where is my son?"
Boris doesn't answer immediately. He reaches into his coat, pulls out a small silver bell, and rings it. The tiny, clear sound is jarring in the massive, quiet space.
A heavy iron door near the back of the room creaks open.
Two of Boris’s enforcers step out. Between them walks a small boy. He’s about seven years old, with golden-brown hair that matches Irina’s. He looks confused, his small hand tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, his eyes blinking against the bright halogen light.
Irina lets out a shattered, choking sob. She lunges forward, her hands reaching for him, but I catch her waist, my arm an iron bar that locks her in place. She struggles against me, her fingers clawing at my jacket, her whole body shaking as she tries to get to him.
"Oleg," she whispers, her voice cracking with a raw, agonizing pain that goes straight to my chest. "Oleg, baby, I’m here! I’m right here!"
"Keep her quiet, Mikhail," Boris says in a sing song voice. “Sergei is still standing behind him. If she takes one step, the boy dies."
I look at the man standing behind the boy. Sergei. He’s got his hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, his other hand tucked into his jacket where the gun is.
"Irina, look at me," I growl, turning her toward me, my hands grabbing her upper arms. Her face is wet with tears, her eyes wide and blind with panic. "Look at me. Be quiet. Be still. I’ve got him. I promise you, I’ve got him."
She looks into my eyes, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged gasps. She nods slowly, her bottom lip trembling as she tucks herself behind my shoulder, her fingers gripping the fabric of my suit jacket like a lifeline.
I turn back to the table, my face turning into a mask of pure, unadulterated ice.
"Let’s talk about the deeds, Boris," I say.
"The deeds are simple," Vladimir chimed in, his gray eyes bright with greed. "Fifty percent of the shipping lanes. The North Dock holdings. The future contracts with the Germans. Boris and I will take over the transit points, and you and Artyom will handle the logistics. You’ll be our enforcers, Mikhail. Just like the old days."
"The old days are dead," I say, my hand resting near my holster under my jacket. "And you’re a fool for thinking Boris is going to share fifty percent of anything with you once he has the deeds. He’s using you, Father. Just like he’s using my wife."
"He’s giving me my name back!" Vladimir roars, slamming his fist on the table. "He’s giving me the respect your brother took from me!"
"He’s giving you a coffin," I growl.
Boris let out a dry, satisfied chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "Do you have the contracts, Mikhail? Or are we going to listen to you lecture my partner all night?"
"I have them," I say. I reach into my jacket, pulling out the thick leather folder Konstantin prepared. I toss it onto the table. It slides across the wood, stopping inches from Boris’s glass. "But Artyom needs to sign it too."
Boris frowns, his eyes narrowing as he reaches for the folder. "That wasn't the deal."
"It’s the only deal you're getting," I say, keeping my voice level, my eyes tracking his movements. "You want the empire? You wait for the seal. But the boy comes with us tonight. As a show of good faith."
"I don't show good faith to tigers," Boris sneers. He opens the folder, his fingers flipping through the pages of the contract. "We keep the boy until the seal is verified. Once the docks are mine, you can have your little bastard back."
I check my watch.Nine fifty-eight.The decoy trucks should be entering the Ferry Street warehouse right now. Boris’s spotters are probably watching the gates, thinking they’re about to intercept our primary inventory.
"Mikhail," Irina whispers from behind my shoulder, her fingers digging into my back. "He looks so scared… “
I look at Oleg. The boy is standing perfectly still, but his fingers are twitching against his jeans, his eyes darting around but focusing more on Irina, with confusion and what looks like awe.
My chest goes tight, a sudden, fierce pride rising through the rage.He’s my son too,and I’m going to protect him with all I have.
"You're quiet, Mikhail," Vladimir says, his eyes searching my face. "Are you realizing you've run out of moves?"
"I'm just thinking about how much I'm going to enjoy burying you, Father," I say.
"Always the hothead," Vladimir sighs. "You were always the difficult one. Artyom was smart. He knew when to bend. But you... you just break things."
"I break the things that are rotten," I say.
