Chapter 16
KATE
Nilsson stands at the top of the stairs, pointing down the hallway of the north wing. The security team formerly tasked with guarding the property across the street has been pressed into service as furniture movers, with a couple of SUVs filling the role of vans.
Granny’s hospital bed, though, wouldn’t fit in any vehicle. Six stout Sawgrass men just carried it across the street, ignoring the cameras and shouted questions from the crowd.
“The bed can go in the yellow bedroom,” Nilsson says, sounding like an army quartermaster. “Second on the left.”
For now, Granny is settled in the living room downstairs, sipping a glass of Anna’s homemade lemonade under Mrs. Watson's watchful eye.
Breagha has already run up and down the stairs a dozen times, choosing between the blue guest room and the green one, stowing away her suitcases, losing her mobile in the kitchen, only to find it again when Nathan Cohen calls.
“Nate!” she trills. “You won’t believe what’s happening!” She locks herself in the green room jacks to carry on her conversation with privacy.
I take advantage of a momentary lull in the chaos to catch my breath in the bedroom I share with Cole. Everything that’s happened today is because of me. Because I killed Pyotr Tarasov.
Nikolai would never have received a copy of Cole’s indictment, if Pyotr were still alive.
Nikolai would never have demanded that Cole develop RedBear.
Nikolai would never have pressed for my unwilling hand in marriage.
I’m responsible for all of this.
I can’t turn back the clock. I can’t go back to the dungeon and bring Pyotr back to life. I can’t decide not to stab him, not to kidnap him in the first place, not to lure him to the park.
And frankly, I don’t want to do reverse any of that.
So I have to do everything in my power to put things right now. I know one single, solitary person who might be in a position to convince Nikolai Tarasov to call off his feckin’ dogs.
The number I need is saved in my contacts, even though I can’t remember ever using it. The ring sounds hollow, like I’m reaching across oceans, or maybe through time. I start to work on a message, a secret, a lie, something that will get a call back.
“What?”
I’m so shocked she’s answered, I forget what to say. Just this once, I want her to surprise me. I want her to be worried about me, to ask if I’m safe. Just this once, I want my mother to care.
“Mam…” I say.
“Katie, we’re very busy here. What do you need?”
“Who’s busy, Mam? What are you doing?”
“If you must know, we’re about to be interviewed by Greta Harrison.”
“From Newsflash? That Greta Harrison?”
“Is there some other? Honestly, Katie. For a girl who’s supposed to be smart with computers, you’re the stupidest person I know.”
A lifetime ago, her casual dismissal would have hurt me. Now, I just have to wait for her to finish, so I can get back to the reason I’ve called. “Who is we, Mam?”
Instead of answering, she talks to someone else in the room. She’s afraid the lighting isn’t good, that she looks orange on the monitor. Maybe she should have gone with the green dress, instead of the red.
“Mam!” I say, raising my voice to get her attention. “Who’s with you?”
“There’s the hair stylist, and the makeup girl, and Jade from the salon. Greta’s people said they couldn’t do my manicure, can you imagine that? But Jade was a lifesaver and came over at short notice.”
“No, Mam. You said we’re about to be interviewed. Who is we?”
“Katie, are you daft? It’s Niki, of course. He’s the only person who’s taken any time today to think about how Cole’s lies affect me. Just now, he went to the kitchen to fetch my nerve tea from Cook.”
Niki. Nikolai Tarasov is in the house right now.
I realize I’m not surprised. Mam has been dealing with the bratva for months now, maybe years. She wants power. She wants money. She wants to be the mob queen of Baltimore—and she doesn’t care if it’s the Irish or the Russian mob.
I think about ending the call. Mam will never help me. She’s invited the Lynch clan’s mortal enemy past the feckin’ gate. She’ll never ask him to spare me, to spare Cole, to end this fucking war.
But I’m down to my last line of code. I don’t have any other options.
Mam tells the makeup girl they’ll have to start over. She needs a different shade of foundation if the lights will be that bright.
“Can you take the phone into another room, Mam?” I ask. “I really need to speak with you.”
“There isn’t time, Katie. This piece needs to be finished by six. They edit it, you know, and Greta puts together her introduction. It all has to be final before it airs at nine tonight.”
“This is important.”
“Lots of things are important, a stór. It was important to your father, that he get someone in to help with the clan’s computers. Quite a mistake he made there, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t a mistake.”
“What would you call it? Do you know how many reporters have come to the gate? Niki can’t understand how they made the connection between Cole and the Canton Crew so quickly.”
I’m sure he can’t.
I fight for a version of the truth she’ll be able to hear. “Mam,” I say. “I need your help.”
She tells someone her hair needs more spray; it’s beginning to curl at the nape of her neck.
“You’ve always been so important to the Canton Crew,” I lie. “Da would be lost as captain without you.”
“Your father never understood our clan.”
She uses the past tense. But at least she’s listening. I have a tiny corner I can pry up, a hint of a chance of a possibility I can break through. “But you did, Mam. You understood everything. The two of you have built an empire.”
“If only your father had a little more vision. If he’d listened to me when those krauts first came to town, we could have been the sole East Coast distribution point for Cr—”
“You told him, Mam.” I cut her off. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she was about to say Crash. What sort of story would Greta Harrison tell if she knew Mam wanted a monopoly on selling drugs to children?
But I have to hold on to my desperate dream that she’ll intercede with Tarasov. I’m her daughter.
So I lie: “You’ve always done what’s best for the Crew. The Lynch clan has always come first.”
She makes a familiar noise like a purring cat. This is how Mam preens. I can picture the wicked smile on her face as she accepts everything she thinks she deserves. I can see her scar stretch thin above her lip.
“There’s one more thing you can do, Mam.” This is the hard part. This is where I need to turn her. I need to make her see. “One more thing to cement your legacy. Da can’t do it, not anymore. But you’re the one who’s always been in charge.”
“Your da’s a feckin’ turnip,” she says. “Niki says—”
“That’s it, Mam. Niki. He doesn’t have the Crew’s best interest at heart.”
“Oh Katie…” she sighs. “Katie, Katie, Katie. Niki said you’d try to do this.”
“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m asking you—”
“He says you’ve always hated the bratva.”
“They kidnapped me when I was eight.” My answer is too loud, too sharp. I can’t help myself. “Breagha and Larissa too.”
“And Niki told me the truth about what happened.”
Her tone tells me I’ve failed. But I have to ask. “The truth?”
“Katie, you’ve been out of control from the day you learned your first word. But honestly, when Niki told me what you did… I’ve never been so embarrassed.”
My voice turns to ice. “What I did.”
“The way you touched Pyotr. The things you said you’d do for him. What child even knows those words?”
I can’t summon a reply. I’m too busy fighting to swallow the vomit in my throat.
“Are you even capable of feeling shame, Katie? Your lies kept the Canton Crew at war for decades. After your da fell ill, it’s been all I can do to make things right.”
“Right,” I say. Or maybe I only imagine my lips forming the word.
“Pyotr and Breagha—our families could have been joined despite your bad behavior. But then the poor man got taken out by the Colombians.”
This is the first time I’ve heard Nikolai Tarasov’s lie about how his son died. Of course, he can’t admit a rogue mob princess killed his brigadier. He has to spin the truth. “Thank God for that,” I manage to say.
Mam’s shriek echoes in my ear. “You vicious, spiteful child! It’s been all I can do to put this deal together. Your sister will marry Ilya Danilov. That will build one link. And Nikolai Tarasov, proving he has more mercy than any other man alive, has agreed to marry me.”
Exhausted, I can only say, “You’re married to Da.”
“Niki has promised your father will always have the finest care. Even after the divorce.”
“Nikolai Tarasov doesn’t want you to divorce Da. He wants me to divorce Cole.”
“Katie, you’re mad. Niki warned me about this. He said you were sick. He said you always wanted Pyotr. You’ve spent your entire life working to smear the Tarasov name. If you hadn’t had your da wrapped around your filthy little finger all these years, this war could have ended years ago.”
“Da never listened to a word I said!”
“Niki says you’re a pathological liar.”
“Nikolai Tarasov is an evil, scheming shitehawk. He’s been trying to conquer the Crew for years. And you’re handing him the clan like a fucking gift-wrapped present!”
“Niki says—”
“Were you dropped on your head as a baby, Mam? Or are you just so eager to get your cunt filled, you can’t even think straight?”
She screams—a single note of pure, unadulterated rage—before she ends the call.
So much for my attempt at getting Mam to save us all from the Russians. I take a moment to breathe deeply, settling my thoughts before I head out to monitor the fortress my house has become.