Chapter 31
KATE
Mam calls a few minutes after Cole leaves to make peace with the Andersons. I think about ignoring her, but past experience tells me how that will work out. She’ll call back every five minutes until I turn my phone off. Then she’ll reach out to Granny.
If she still hasn’t succeeded in getting my attention by then, she’ll do something to make herself sick. Last time, she swallowed ipecac. The time before that, she dropped a plate and sliced her forearm with a shard. She’s faked a dozen illnesses—fevers, palpitations, nausea.
She won’t stop until she lands in hospital. She carries a card in her wallet that lists me as her emergency contact—she’s used it for years, even when Da was of sound mind and body.
Mam’s a fucking tool.
So I decide to cut the entire game short by answering the first time she calls. “What?” I ask.
“Nine months, I carried you in my body. And this is the way you answer the phone?”
“Is Nikolai Tarasov in your house?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Goodbye, Mam.”
“Wait!”
And I’m conditioned enough to be a good little mob princess that I don’t end the call.
“Your sister was supposed to be here two hours ago for Sunday Roast,” Mam says.
“Yeah, she won’t be coming.”
“Cook is having fits. She says the roast is long past ruined.”
“There’s a brilliant invention these days. You can order a pizza, and they’ll bring it to your door.”
“Why are you always such a hateful child?”
“I don’t know, Mam. Why don’t you ask Nikolai? Opinions are like arseholes—I’m sure he has one.”
“There is absolutely no need for you to be so vulgar. I’m calling because I’m worried about your sister. Do you know where she is?”
“I do. But I won’t be telling you.”
“That sounds positively ominous, Katie. Have you hurt her in some way?”
“You mean, hurt her more than trying to marry her off to a Russian enforcer? After you tried to pawn her off on a bratva brigadier?”
“You make me sound like some sort of evil witch! I have never wanted anything more than the happiness of my daughters. Both of you, even though you never appreciated a single thing I’ve done. You—”
“That’s not true, Mam.”
I’ve shocked her into absolute silence.
Pressing my sudden advantage, I say, “There is one thing you’ve done that I do appreciate.
The day you and Da forced me to marry Cole Wolf was the single luckiest day of my life.
So tell your precious Nikolai you are fresh out of daughters to send to the bratva.
Too bad you’re too old to take on the role of Lynch clan broodmare yourself. ”
“I’m accustomed to your being nasty to me. But what did Niki ever do to you?”
“Ask him.”
“I will not—”
“I’m serious. Ask him what he did last Tuesday, at Kynk.”
“Kink!”
“It’s a sex club, Mam. In Brooklyn. Ask Nikolai what he paid for at Kynk.”
“You and your filthy, filthy mouth. Why has God cursed me with a daughter like you?”
Suddenly, all the fight goes out of me. I’m exhausted.
I can barely keep my grip on my mobile. “God has nothing to do with it, Mam.” And then I give her the answer she asked for, the reason she started this miserable conversation in the first place.
“Breagha’s run off. She’s married her young fella. ”
“You let her—”
“I didn’t let her do anything. She’s a grown woman and she made her own choice. She eloped on Friday night.”
“Where are they? What is that pervert’s name? Klein? Katz? What is the name of the man who took my baby?”
“He didn’t take her. She went.”
“Went where?”
“To Indonesia.”
“My baby girl is in Indonesia?” Mam wails.
I might as well have told her that Breagha was sex-trafficked to a harem in the Middle East. At least if that was the news, Nikolai Tarasov might have some business contacts to bring her home.
My mother recovers more quickly than I expected she would. “My little Breagha eloped. No church, no priest… I didn’t even get to buy a new dress.”
“That’s right, Mam. This is all about your dress. You couldn’t possibly wear that gold one again.”
“You spiteful little—” She cuts herself off, remembering she still needs something from me. “Give me her address.”
“I don’t have it.”
“How can I reach her?”
“She’ll call if she wants.”
“How will the pair of them live?”
“Happily ever after, I expect.”
Mam starts to sob, violent uncontrolled hiccups. “Y— You can’t under— understand. You’ve nev— Never loved anyone. You—”
“I’m sorry Sunday Roast’s been ruined, Mam. Ask Cook about that pizza. I’m sure you’ll feel better.”
I end the call.
I know this won’t be the end of things. My sister married for love, but her defection has created a serious loss for Tarasov. His plan to force her to the altar with Ilya Danilov was half his bid to control the Canton Crew forever.
Breagha. Me.
We’re the two keys to controlling the Irish mob in Baltimore. And with my sister safely half a world away, that leaves me.
Tarasov rallies even faster than Mam did. A text arrives in minutes.
Nikolai Tarasov
You will file for divorce by noon tomorrow
Suck my nonexistent dick
Such a biting reply
You will not bite once you are my wife
I will wear your teeth on a necklace
Do you ever get tired of sounding like a third-rate villain in a monster movie?
Tomorrow
Noon
Or what?
Or the FBI will get this
The first attachment he sends isn’t a surprise. It’s my criminal record, a curated list of all the raids I did with Pyotr. I was proud of those conquests. I earned money on them, supporting the Crew. Nikolai has had the details since he took over his son’s computer.
And the rest of the world will get this
Help me write the headlines
Wolf’s Wife Howls
It’s the video Pyotr made when I convinced him to download Viktor. I don’t bother watching myself writhe on the bed. I already know what I did to win.
And this
The video is jumpy. Master Jonathan’s hands were understandably shaky. It’s edited, only starting as Cole puts me on all fours. The lighting is poor—too dark around the edges, overexposed in the center. But the sound is crystal clear.
Everyone who watches will hear Cole grunt.
Everyone who watches will hear me scream.
Everyone who watches will see the torture go on and on and on—Cole and me, center stage at Kynk.
Wolf will never work again
He won’t show his face in public
I need to write back. I need to tell him I don’t care, that he can’t control me, that his filthy spank-bank video will never change a single, solitary thing.
But I can’t take my eyes from the screen. I can’t believe that is what I looked like, submitting, controlled. I can’t believe that is what Cole endured, doing it all to me.
The recording finally ends.
I finally remember how to type.
A hundred grand doesn’t buy what it used to
Divorce papers
Signed
Sealed
Delivered by noon tomorrow
Or all three go live
And your Wolf will be skinned forever