Page 42 of Merciless Daddy

Sal saw it.

I knew he saw it because his eyes went darker. Because his fingers flexed once behind him against the marble. Because the room seemed suddenly too small for the two of us and the clean scent of soap and blood.

He did not touch me.

“Thank you for doing that,” he said. “I know you don’t like me much.”

Then he slid off the counter and stepped back.

One step. Then another.

He gave me space like it cost him something.

I stood there holding the empty wrapper from the closure, furious with my own body for leaning toward him after he had moved away.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “And you’re right. I don’t like you much.”

My voice did not sound like mine.

The problem was, I did like him. A lot.

The temporary office sat at the far end of the penthouse, glass walls turned opaque by drawn shades. A laptop glowed on the desk. Files had been stacked in clean squares beside it.

Sal had gone downstairs to take a call.

I’d been exploring a little, as Sal had told me I was free to go where I pleased. I figured maybe I could find something about Kiryl, or about Gianni, or about just how far this fast-devloping war might go.

I opened the files.

The first file bore the name of one of my father’s companies. The second, Northbridge. The third had my name typed across the tab.

YELENA SOKOLOVA.

My fingers went cold.

Inside were copies of shareholder records, fleet schedules, photographs of the Zhar-Ptitsa, timelines of Gianni’s movements. There were surveillance stills of me entering my father’s restaurant. Me standing at his shoulder. Me in the dining room, head turned toward a frightened waiter.

Notes.

Subject intervenes before floor captain can discipline employee. Pattern consistent with prior footage. Protects lower-status staff despite personal exposure.

Another page.

Subject demonstrates total recall of dispatch figures and contract structures. Lev Sokolov relies on her operationally while maintaining public fiction of decorative role.

Another.

Likely pressure point: younger brother, Kiryl. Do not approach directly without confirming whether contact would increase risk to subject.

I read every word.

Cargo. That was what I had been. A route. A pressure point. A subject.

Something in me went very still.

“Put it down, please.”

Sal’s voice came from the doorway.