Page 6 of Hunt Me, Daddy

I opened the false Orlov file, armed the next trap, and smiled without warmth.

Then I waited for the ghost to come back.

CHAPTER 2

Ivan Morozov

The fifth time Maxim said my name, I realized I had missed an entire conversation about dock shipments.

That was unfortunate, but not totally catastrophic, because I could reconstruct most of it from context, body language, the half-finished sentence hanging in the air, and the fact that Sergei’s jaw was tight—a tell of his that meant someone had either lied to us or annoyed him. Still, it was unfortunate. I preferred to be the smartest man in the room by a comfortable margin, and it was difficult to maintain that reputation while staring back at my brothers with a lost look on my face.

The Iron Wolf Tavern hummed around us in the familiar way it always did. The bar outside the back room was full tonight, the way it usually was when Boston decided it wanted to pretend it wasn’t afraid of us. Laughter rumbled through the walls, threaded with Russian, English, the clink of expensive glasses, and the muted pulse of music kept just low enough not to interfere with business. The place smelled like vodka, polishedmahogany, and money that had passed through too many hands to ever be clean again.

It was home.

Or close enough, at least.

The back room was warmer than the rest of the tavern, amber light catching on the gold trim and deep red velvet like everything had been designed to make blood look elegant. A round table sat in the center, heavy and dark, and scarred in places most guests would never notice because guests didn’t know where to look. My brothers did. I did. Every mark in this room had a story, and most of those stories ended with someone learning not to test the Morozovs twice.

Maxim sat across from me, still as a judge and twice as final. He didn’t raise his voice. He never had to. His steel-blue eyes were fixed on me with that quiet, patient weight that made grown men start explaining themselves before they knew what they had done wrong.

I hated when he used it on me.

“Ivan,” he said again.

I blinked once and brought the room back into focus. “Yes.”

Nikolai leaned back in his chair with a grin spreading across his face. “Careful. That sounded almost like you were listening.”

“I was listening,” I said.

Aleksei’s mouth curved. “Excellent. Then you can tell us what Maxim just asked.”

I looked at my youngest brother first because he enjoyed my suffering too much, then at Nikolai because he enjoyedeveryone’s suffering when it was funny, then at Sergei because Sergei, unfortunately, was already watching me like he knew exactly where my attention had gone.

“Maxim asked about the dock manifests,” I guessed.

Maxim’s expression did not change.

Good. Correct enough.

“He asked,” Sergei said dryly, “whether the discrepancy in the dock manifests was Orlov interference or incompetence from our own people.”

“Those are often the same thing when Orlov money is involved,” I replied smoothly, reaching for my glass.

Nikolai laughed. “Nice save.”

“It wasn’t a save. It was a strategic reframing.”

“Sure it was.”

Maxim did not laugh. He lifted his vodka, took a slow drink, and set the glass down gently. “Where are you tonight?”

“In your bar,” I answered. “Being bullied by my family. Very tragic for me, I must say.”

Aleksei chuckled. Nikolai grinned wider. Sergei didn’t move at all.

Maxim’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Ivan.”