Chapter 7
BOGDAN
Kirill is waiting outside Hem & Havoc when I arrive with dinner.
He looks at the takeaway bags, then at the plywood covering the display window. The new door has a different finish from its frame. In the light above it, I can see where the carpenter filled the split wood this afternoon.
“Your men know where to find you,” he says. “So does Luka.”
I stop beside him. Through the narrow pane in the door, Tessa moves a stack of fabric away from the cutting table. Peggy follows her with two mugs, and for a moment I can see both women laughing at something I can't hear.
I wanted to get here before they finished for the night.
“You came to tell me that?”
“Two drivers were questioned today. The police want to know who uses our cars. The captains want to know how long we're putting men outside a costume shop.”
Klim stands a little farther along the wall, giving us room without leaving. Kirill glances toward him before lowering his voice. A passerby walks between us and the parked cars, carrying a bag of groceries. We wait until she's gone.
The food warms my fingers through the paper handles. I shift the bags to my other hand and face Kirill fully.
He's spent years keeping my freight business moving through problems that would close an ordinary company.
When one of our collections comes back short, he's the man who knows whether the shopkeeper needs another week or has paid somebody else.
He earns the right to tell me things I won't enjoy hearing.
“How long would you leave them unguarded?” I ask.
“I wouldn't. I'd pay a security company. I wouldn't make every threat to a girl a personal challenge to the head of the bratva.”
Behind him, the board over the window has a fresh knot in the wood at the height of Tessa's face. Yesterday there was glass there. I remember her trying to tell me she hadn't been shot as though that meant she was all right.
My shoulders stiffen beneath my jacket.
“Luka sent armed men after a witness from my club. He made it personal.”
Kirill's eyes narrow. “He sent them before he knew what she was to you.”
For a few seconds I hear only the rustle of the bags in my hand.
Kirill has always been good at finding the part of an argument I haven't answered.
I could tell him she's a vendor, that the protection is no different from what I'd provide to anyone attacked over my business.
He watched me leave Charlestown yesterday.
He knows how little I cared about the meeting I left behind.
I hold his gaze.
“The women stay protected. The depots keep their guards. We'll pay for the extra shifts. You have my decision.”
His attention stays on me for another moment. Then he nods, once, and reaches into his pocket for his keys.
“Call me if you need more men.”
He goes toward his car without waiting for thanks. I watch him cross the pavement, relieved by the offer and irritated that he was right about anything. Tessa matters to me. I've known her for five days, and my captain can see it from the street.
Klim comes forward when Kirill's car pulls away.
“Matvei stays with the women,” I tell him. “Put him in charge of their close protection. Keep the relief shifts under you.”
Klim nods and opens the door. Matvei is inside, beside the fitting-room archway. He hears his name, and I repeat the assignment to him while Klim checks the evening departure arrangements. Matvei accepts it without looking past me for another answer.
I like that about him. Yesterday he moved when it mattered.
The police released the shop for repairs and collection this afternoon.
The women finished the urgent orders in my club's fitting room, then came back under escort to recover the stock they could still use.
They'll keep their public appointments at the club until the window is replaced and Klim is satisfied with the entrances here.
Inside, the sharp smell of cut wood lingers beneath warm cloth and the garlic escaping from the bags.
The front room has been cleared, but a pale rectangle marks where the display used to stand.
A damaged rail waits beside the shelves for collection.
Someone has tied a strip of red fabric around its buckled upright.
Tessa sees the food and puts down the box she's carrying.
“Please tell me some of that is for us.”
“Most of it.”
Peggy clears a place on the cutting table before I reach it. Tessa pushes the nearest chair toward me, then bends to move the damaged rail out of the way. Her movement stops halfway down. She shifts her weight off the knee she struck yesterday.
I set the bags on the table and take the rail from her.
It's lighter than I expect. One side rolls while the bent side drags, forcing me to turn it sideways to get past the chair. A broken bracket catches the inside of my open jacket. I feel a sharp tug, then the lining gives with a small tearing sound.
Tessa looks at me with more distress than the damage deserves.
“Oh, that's horrible.”
I free the cloth and put the rail against the far wall, clear of the passage. The outside of my jacket is untouched. Inside, a few inches of silk hang loose near the pocket.
“I'll survive.”
“I meant the tailoring.”
Peggy laughs as she opens the cartons. Tessa reaches for the torn edge, turning it gently between her fingers. Her knuckles brush my shirt before she lets the lining fall.
“Let me fix it after we eat.”
I could have it collected by the tailor tomorrow. I take off the jacket and lay it over the empty chair beside her. She smiles at the gesture, then brings out plates from the little office.
I'm still watching when Peggy passes me a fork.
The table rocks under my elbow. I catch the nearest carton before it tips, and Tessa slides the cardboard beneath the short leg back into place with her shoe. She does it without looking down, as though she's spent years making that correction in the middle of something else.
I sit back to give her room.
Dinner is hot noodles, chicken with ginger and peppers, and dumplings packed so tightly together that Peggy has to work one loose with her fork. Steam rises between us as Tessa divides the food. The first mouthful burns my tongue. I keep eating anyway, hungry now that the argument outside is over.
Tessa takes two dumplings, then puts the larger one on Peggy's plate.
“You hardly ate at lunch.”
Peggy starts to object, but Tessa passes her the sauce she likes and the objection ends.
A moment later they're discussing which dresses can be salvaged, pointing with their forks toward bags beside the sewing benches.
I listen while Tessa distinguishes torn lace from cloth that only needs pressing.
She remembers who made each piece and how long it took.
When Peggy reaches for the booking tablet, Tessa holds the food carton in front of it until she takes another helping.
I can't keep the smile off my face.
Tessa catches it and looks down at my plate. She adds more chicken without asking, then settles properly into her chair. Her knee stays stretched beneath the table. I shift mine so she doesn't have to pull it back.
For a while the three of us eat among the bags of rescued stock. A packet of plastic fangs lies beside my phone, its cardboard soaked where a carton has leaked. Peggy peels it away from the table and sets it on a sheet of paper to dry.
Peggy's tablet lights up. She reads the message, then opens the payment screen.
“The two Saturday stitchers have been paid,” she tells Tessa. “For the whole shift we cancelled.”
Tessa's fork stops on its way to her mouth. “Good. They kept the day for us.”
She resumes eating. There isn't much left on her plate now. I look at the piles behind her and think of the figures Peggy sent to my office this morning, the replacement stock and lost fittings. I authorized the payment without needing to read every line. They know exactly what each one means.
I want to buy them a table that stands straight. I also want Tessa to finish the meal before she finds another person to worry about.
When the cartons are empty, Peggy gathers them into the bags and takes a call near the rear door. Her voice is lighter when she answers. Tessa carries the plates away, washes her hands and comes back for my jacket.
She spreads it across her lap with the torn lining facing up.
“There's a vampire cape in that bin if you get cold,” she says. “Twelve dollars. Goes beautifully with the fangs.”
I glance at the packet drying beside my phone. “Kirill would enjoy seeing me in it.”
Her smile widens. She finds matching thread, draws a length from the spool and holds the ends against the silk. The color disappears when she lays it down.
I watch her make the first stitch. Her hands are steady tonight. Yesterday I held her while she shook, her forehead pressed against my chest. Here, she draws the seam together a little at a time, checking the outside with her thumb before making the next stitch.
The chair beside hers is empty. I move into it.
She lifts her eyes to mine, then returns to the lining with a small smile still on her mouth. Our sleeves touch when she turns the jacket. I rest my forearm along the table and stay where I am.
“Who do we ask about using the club on Sunday?” she says. “We've moved a fitting there.”
“Me.”
“You own it?”
“The Ninth Masque is mine.”
The needle stops above the cloth. She looks at me, then toward the bags of costumes they brought back from the club today.
“That makes the invitation upstairs considerably less mysterious.”
I remember her declining it because Peggy needed help. I liked her for that before I knew either of their names. Sitting beside her now, I want the chance to ask again when she has nothing left to finish for someone else.
“The room's available,” I tell her. “Klim will arrange the escort.”
She nods and pulls the thread through. On the wall beyond her shoulder, the booking calendar is filled almost to the end of October. A small pumpkin is drawn in the square for Halloween. Beneath it, Peggy has written the club's name twice.
“One of those is the staff supper,” I say.
Tessa follows my glance. “Peggy asked if it was a separate event. We haven't sorted those costumes yet.”
“Dinner before the public doors open. Everyone's paid for the time. We do it every year.”
She sets the needle safely into the folded lining and turns toward me.
“You feed everybody before they have to deal with the rest of us?”
“They spend Halloween working other people's parties. They should get one of their own.”
I started it the first year I had the club.
Getting the overnight cleaners, bartenders and security at the same tables took more organization than opening the doors to customers afterward.
I still remember the noise from the kitchen and a cook insisting I taste something before she'd let it leave the stove.
Tessa's fingers settle over my wrist. It's a brief touch, warm against the skin below my cuff.
“I'd like to see that.”
“You will.”
She leaves her hand there for another moment before picking up the needle. I look at the place she touched, at the right-hand ring beside it, and find myself wanting to tell her things that have nothing to do with yesterday's shooting.
She knows my name now. She knows what men say about it. She's sitting close enough that her knee rests against the side of my chair, repairing a jacket I could replace before breakfast.
I keep still while she finishes.
Peggy comes back as Tessa secures the thread. She has her coat over one arm, and Matvei appears at the archway to tell us the cars are ready. There are separate escorts for the two flats. He checks with Klim before taking Peggy's bag to the door.
Tessa lifts the jacket off her lap and holds it open for me.
I stand, turn and slide my arms into it.
Her hands settle briefly at my shoulders as she straightens the collar.
Her thumb grazes the back of my neck, and I grow hard beneath my trousers.
The repaired lining moves smoothly against my shirt.
When I face her, she checks the lapel and brushes away a short piece of thread.
“There. You can frighten people in it again.”
I take the hand resting against my chest. She lets her fingers curl around mine.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Her eyes move over my face. The smile fades, but she keeps hold of my hand.
“Yesterday frightened me. You don't.”
She steps closer and presses a kiss to my cheek, lingering just long enough for me to feel the warmth of her mouth before she draws back. I turn toward her without releasing her hand.
At the door, Peggy stops searching in her bag and waits.
I let Tessa go when she reaches for her coat. She walks toward her friend, and I follow with the bag of sewing she wants to take home. The driver is waiting outside, with Matvei beside the open car door.
Kirill was right about her being able to make me leave a room full of captains.
Tonight she has done something I find much harder to account for. She has made me want to stay at a crooked table after everyone else has gone.