Page 37 of The Bratva King

Raymond looks up from his clipboard, surprised by the question. “Called in sick, sir.”

“Again?”

“Yes. If she calls in again, I’ll fire her.”

I frown. I don’t know much about the day-to-day staffing issues because I have people for that, but firing her seems wrong. People get sick. We don’t want them to puke on the table or sneeze on customers. That shouldn’t cost them their job.

“Why?” I ask.

He shifts his weight. “Policy is three, and you’re out.”

I look at him. “Is that normal?”

He takes a second before answering. “It happens a lot with people like her,” he says carefully.

“Define ‘people like her.’”

“Single moms,” he says. “Honestly, it’s why I hate hiring them. They’ve always got some crisis. Kid’s sick, babysitter bailed, some other disaster. It’s a liability. I’ve told HR to stop giving me these people, but they say they can’t ask the question. Seems wrong.”

I look at him for a long moment.

Somewhere in the middle of my silence, he realizes his mistake. The color drains from his face.

“You don’t think we should hire single mothers?” My voice is cold and flat, but the dangerous undertone is there.

“Mr. Sokolov⁠⁠—”

I hold up my hand. “Single mothers working odd hours to feed their children are not a liability. They are motivated. They don’t steal. They don’t cause drama. They don’t show up still drunk from the night before. Understood?”

He swallows. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

I walk away before I say something that creates more paperwork and a potential assault charge.

I find Pasha near the high-limit room, leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand, looking for all the world like a man who is simply waiting. But I know better. He’s watching three things at once. He always looks casual. I always look stressed. Yin and Yang.

“I’m going out,” I tell him.

He pockets the phone. “I’ll come.”

“You don’t need to.”

“It’s not about need.”

“It’s a quick errand,” I say. “I don’t require backup for that.”

He looks at me, raising one eyebrow. “Who is the errand?”

I’m not surprised he knows it’s a who and not an actual errand. “Collins.”

He almost smiles, which I find irritating.

“She called in sick again,” I say. “Something’s wrong.”

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“Because she was reliable. Something might be wrong with her son.”