Page 145 of Boardroom Ties
Well, fuck.
“I know what you were expecting,” Lukas continues when he sees my face. “You were expecting me to say that the deal was off, since you failed to hold up your end of the bargain. That would be a reasonable position to take, and I considered it. The old me would’ve done exactly that. But I’m a new man, Matvei. Recent events have changed me. There’s hope in this world, is what I’m trying to say. More of it than I ever would have guessed.”
My eyes flick, against my will, to Afon. His face is unreadable. I wonder what he’s thinking about. My dead father? His dead wife? The people who’ve left us, the people we’ve loved?
What does his freedom look like? For decades, he’s been doing the Bratva’s dirtiest work. Does he see himself tanning on a beach somewhere? Strolling through cobblestone streets?
No, I doubt that. He’s never been much of one for city life, and he burns bright pink the instant he sees sun. If I had to guess, I’d say that my uncle’s freedom looks more like a cabin in the mountains with no one around for miles, where the only dirt he ever has to deal with is the literal stuff, soil and grass and things of the earth.
Yeah. That’d be right for him.
I want to give him that.
“Thank you,” I tell Lukas.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warns as he stands, buttons his suit jacket, and shakes each of our hands in turn. “Seventy-two hours is not a long time. You’d better be quick.”
Kir walks me to the elevator. As we wait for it to arrive, he grabs my arm and pulls me aside so we can talk out of earshot of Afon. His grip on my arm is tight enough to bruise, but his face is softer than I’ve seen since we were boys throwing rocks at pigeons on the Brighton boardwalk.
He glances over his shoulder to make sure Afon isn’t eavesdropping, then drops his voice. “Listen to me, brother. I don’t have a lot of time and you have even less, so I’m gonna be quick about it. You remember what I was like when I met Jillian, right?”
I huff out a weary laugh. “Hard to forget. You broke into her apartment to kill her and instead spent six weeks sitting on her fire escape like a lovesick raccoon.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, man.”
“Who says I’m not?”
His mouth twitches, then flattens out again. “My father told me to put her in the ground. And I went over there fully intending to do exactly that. And then she… Well, that’s a different story. But the thing nobody told me that I wish someone had is that, when it’s the right one, everything else goes out the window.”
“You wentinthe window, if I remember correctly,” I interrupt.
He tightens his grip on me. “Shut up and listen to me, asshole. I’m trying to make a point. The point is, you know right away that things have changed for good. I see the look in your eyes, man; I know that you know it. And you know that you know it.”
“And I know that you know that I know that I know it,” I grumble sarcastically. “Look, Kir, I appreciate the lecture— Well, actually, I don’t, but?—”
The elevator dings and the doors open. Kir drags me close to him, forehead to forehead, brother to brother, and fixes me with a hard-eyed glare that for once actually shuts me up. “You can bullshit and bluster all you want, Matvei Satyrin, but I see you. And if I had to guess, I’d say this woman sees you, too. Therealyou, with all your flaws and imperfections. If she’s seen that and she’s still in, then you do whatever you have to do to keep her. Even if…” He checks over his shoulder again as Afon watches impatiently from within the elevator. Lukas is nowhere to be seen. “Even if it comes down to saying fuck the Bratva and taking her and running, you do it. Alright? I know you love melike a brother, and I love you the same way. But be honest with yourself about why you’re fighting this war, why you’re walking through fire. Because if you lie about that, you’ll get her killed.”
At last, he relinquishes his grasp on me and steps back. “Good luck, my friend. You’ll need it.”
45
MAT
The Oglethorpe brownstone is on East Seventy-Eighth, between Park and Madison. I climb the limestone steps and stand under a black funeral wreath.
I check my watch. Seventy-one hours and change.
I knock.
It takes a long time for anyone to answer. As I wait, I start to consider whether this whole stop is a waste of the time I do not have. Every idle second, my thoughts conjure up an image of Cass in a dingy cell a few miles south of here, slowly figuring out how to despise me.
The door cracks two inches. A chain stays bolted across the gap, but I recognize the sliver of face I see.
“I’m not doing visitors today.” Caroline’s voice is hoarse, soaked through with tears, and utterly exhausted. “Or any day this week. There’s a sign-up sheet for casseroles on the church website. I can text you the link.”
“I’m not here for a casserole.”
“Then I’m definitely not interested in talking.” The door starts to close.
