Page 98 of Merciless Daddy

For the next fifty minutes, she was brilliant. She found three likely routes Gianni would monitor and designed a fourth around his assumptions. She recorded a message for Kiryl explaining that the move was precautionary. She warned Pietro that Kiryl asked too many questions when frightened and should be given a task to occupy him.

At eleven-thirty I closed the file in front of her.

“Bedtime.”

“I need ten minutes.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You said until eleven-thirty.”

“It is eleven-thirty.”

“I’m in the middle of—”

“Pietro has it. Trust us. He’s competent.”

She looked toward the secure display.

Pietro said, “I don’t know about competent, but I have this.”

Yelena stood with dignity, gathered her notes, and left.

I expected an argument. That should have warned me.

At midnight, she returned in soft pajamas with a novel under one arm.

No tiny silk this time. Loose cotton trousers. Long sleeves. Bare feet.

She took the chair directly opposite mine, curled into it, and opened the book.

I looked at the clock.

Then at her.

“Bed.”

“I’m not working.”

“That was not the rule.”

“I’m relaxing.”

“In the wrong room. The rule was bed at 11:30.”

She turned a page.

“Yelena.”

“I’m at a very important part.”

I watched her eyes.

They had not moved across a single line.

“Bed, little one.”