Page 65 of Feral King

I recognize three of them from the gala—syndicate affiliates, mid-level, the ones who represent the bigger bosses who actually run things. I don’t recognize the other three, and it unsettles me.

Julian sits behind his desk. He’s speaking in Russian in a rapid cadence I’ve never heard from him. He looks up when I appear in the doorway, our eyes locking.

I see the shift for just a second, a familiar warmth surfacing in those gunmetal grays, reminding me of what we shared not even two hours ago. Then it’s gone in the literal blink of an eye, leaving a CEO, a Bratva heir, a man among killers.

I have to talk to tell him about my father.

“Julian, I?—”

“Not now, Lyra.” His tone is flat and final. “Whatever you need, it can wait. We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

One of the men glances in my direction. It’s a quick and total dismissal, like I’m some clueless secretary that wandered into the wrong meeting.

My dad is dying. The words are right there, ready to be spoken. But I stay silent.

“Yeah. Sure. In the morning.”

I walk back to my desk in a daze.

I think about texting him, telling him that my father might not survive the week and I’m leaving tonight.

Instead, I open a blank document and type a note—it’s short and professional.

Julian,

My dad’s condition has worsened. I need to fly to New Orleans for his surgery. I’ll be gone the rest of the week. All fundraiser materials are up to date, and Anya has access to everything she needs. I’ll touch base when I can.

—Lyra

My first instinct is to email it, but I need him to see it ASAP. So I print it and head back to Julian’s office. The door’s shut now, the voices behind it loud and overlapping. It sounds like an argument or a heated negotiation.

I slide the note under the door, then I take an Uber home. Once there, I book a flight online, departing at 9:20 p.m. from La Guardia. I pack a bag in a daze, wondering if I’m being watched, wondering where Julian really fits into my life.

Before I know it, I’m in the back of another Uber, headed to the airport.

The dam breaks and I start to cry. I should know better by now.

Hell, Idoknow better.

And that’s the worst part.

CHAPTER 23

LYRA

I’m in the back seat of the Uber; my duffel bag pressed against my chest like I’m eight years old, and it’s the stuffed elephant I sleep with every night. I open my phone, double-checking that my flight to Louis Armstrong International is still on time.

I booked a one-way ticket. I couldn’t commit to a return flight. This is my dad—I’ll be there for as long as I need to be.

The cabbie badge on the dash says the driver’s name is Youssef. I look out the window, watching Queens pass by, as I try not to think about the note I slid under Julian’s door.

I wonder if he’s read it yet.

I lean to the side and rest my head against the cool glass of the window. Dad is going into surgery soon. Mom is alone. And I still haven’t heard back from the insurance company.

I’ll worry about it when I get there.

The cab changes lanes, the driver muttering something about traffic. I close my eyes.