Page 27 of Dark King Daddy

Very faint. Gone almost at once.

It was enough.

She turned toward the entrance. Anton followed her. Mikhail remained beside me for half a second.

“My daughter dislikes being reassured,” he said quietly.

“She prefers evidence.”

His eyes settled on me. “Yes.”

Then he went inside.

I followed the Orlovs into Volna with Ksenia’s scent still caught in my breath.

Ksenia sat across from me, which was either an accident or one of Nikita’s little tricks.

Lev occupied one end of the table. Mikhail sat at the other. I took the chair at my father’s right, with Anton beside his. Ksenia sat between Anton and Nikita. Arkady completed the table opposite her.

The Samovar Room had been designed to flatter men who believed themselves important. Dark wood. Heavy curtains. Brass lamps throwing warm light over crystal and silver. An antique samovar stood on the sideboard, keeping water hot, its metal polished enough to reflect distorted faces.

Ksenia looked incredible.

The green dress followed the line of her waist when she sat. A narrow gold chain rested at her throat. She wore unusual earrings, dark stones in hammered metal. They moved when she turned her head.

I knew because I kept watching them.

Her, not the earrings.

I forced my attention to Lev.

Zakuski covered the table. Smoked fish. Pickled mushrooms. Black bread. Caviar. Small dishes arranged between bottles of vodka no one drank quickly because the evening required clear heads.

Nikita gave his report.

“Yuri Markov was instructed to copy schedules carrying Orlov cargo,” he said. “Nothing else interested Karpov. Not our independent routes. Not shipments connected to Chicago. Only freight entering through Orlov facilities and moving on Sokolov trucks.”

Anton rested one forearm on the table. “Meaning they’re mapping the shared infrastructure.”

“Or trying to make us believe they are,” Lev said.

Nikita inclined his head. “Possible. But the pressure applied to Yuri’s brother required preparation. They identified the debt, acquired photographs, and approached Yuri at a point when the dispatch office was empty. This wasn’t improvised.”

“Neither was Sergei,” Anton said.

He recounted Sergei’s abduction, then repeated the words his captors had used: Lev Sokolov authorized it.

Lev’s face did not change.

My father could hear his own name used in a plot to begin a war and look as though someone had reported rain.

Mikhail was less still. His thumb moved once along the edge of his glass.

“We suspend Orlov freight on Sokolov trucks,” Anton said. “Effective tonight. We use independent carriers until we identify the leaks.”

“No,” Mikhail said.

Anton looked toward him. “Papa—”