Page 135 of Cruel Lies

"Because I'd rather she hate me and be safe than trust me and go to prison." I swallow and crush the napkin in my fist. "I know I'm not a good man. I'm my father's son after all. But if I let her stay wired into that system to spare my own feelings, and it drags her down when our enemies close in, then I'm Todd. No—I'm worse than Todd. Todd just wanted to take her house. I'd be the one to put her in a jail cell."

Navi doesn't answer that. He just looks at me for a long moment, probably wondering what the hell has happened to the Ronan he thought he knew.

"Then there's the second thing," I say.

His eyebrows wrinkle. "What second thing?"

"I'm pausing the gunrunning. All of it. Effective tonight."

He sits up straighter. "Ro. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. I'm not."

"You can't just— Jesus Christ, do you understand what that costs?! Not just the money, but the relationships! There are people expecting product who don't take kindly to being told to wait. You became richer than God with this stuff, and you've spent the last year bending over backwards to find ways to rinse the cash clean. And now, you want to turn the tap off entirely?"

"Yes."

"For fuck's sake, why?!" He lurches to his feet, fists clenched in sheer surprise. "Give me a real reason."

"Because as long as I'm printing dirty money faster than we can wash it, I'm a target. That means anyone standing near me is a target, too. I can choose to take that risk. But I won't let her make the same choice."

"So this is about her."

"It always has been, cousin. From the start."

Navi laughs in bitter disgust. He drags a hand back through his hair. "You're shutting down the thing that funds our entire Bratva. This shit keeps the firm lit and the lights on and every man on the payroll fed. And you're pulling the plug to protect a civilian woman—who, by the way, just ran out the door and is probably never going to speak to you again?"

"That's correct."

"You know how that sounds?"

I shake my head. "I know exactly how it sounds."

He drops back down, shaking his head. He looks at me like he's never quite seen me before. Maybe he hasn't. I'm not sure I've ever seen myself do this, either. My whole life has been aboutthe thing I inherited, the monstrous Bratva my father built, the money and the fear and the moving of it all through the dark.

I told myself the guns were ambition.

I told myself the shells and the fronts were wisdom.

I told myself a lot of things.

But right now, standing at a black window forty stories up with a two-cent napkin in my fist, I don't care about any of it. The money doesn't matter. The Bratva doesn't matter.

The only thing that matters is a brownstone on the Upper West Side with two pairs of rainboots by the door.

And I've already lost my place in it.

"There's one more thing," I say. "You're going to think I've lost my mind."

Navi barks out another vicious laugh. "I already think that."

"I want you to return the mirrors."

He blinks in confusion. "What mirrors?"

"Her mirrors. The ones I took. They're crated in the storage unit in Red Hook. I want them back at her house. Tomorrow morning. Early, before she takes the kids anywhere. All of them, exactly where they came from, hung back on the walls."

He gawks at me. "You want to break into her house again? Now? After tonight? Ro, that's insane. That's the last thing on Earth you should?—"