Page 114 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

The old man lets go, but not fast enough.

Dmitri steps between us, one hand already closing around Velenko’s wrist. I realize I have found a lead and triggered Dmitri in the same night. He has no idea how to be civilized about fear.

26

DMITRI

Iget Cara off the dining hall terrace before I twist Velenko’s wrist in front of every donor, judge, and charity saint pretending not to watch through glass. His pulse beats under my fingers, thin and fast, and I want to feel the bone give.

Cara touches my sleeve. “Dmitri,” she says, low enough to keep the guests from hearing.

Her voice saves him.

I let go of Velenko’s wrist with a shove, and he stumbles into the rail. “Leave.”

Velenko rubs his wrist and looks past me toward the dining hall. “You misunderstand.”

I catch his lapel and pull him close. “Say that again, and I’ll make it the last time you speak under Volkov’s roof.”

Cara grips my arm. “Dmitri.”

Her nails dig through my sleeve.

I take Cara’s hand and lead her through the side door before Velenko causes more trouble.

We pass one guard, a narrow corridor, and a service stair, away from the guests and the flowers and the dinner table.

Cara keeps up even with the limp, and that makes me angrier.

The door to my rooms shuts behind us.

“You baited him on purpose,” I say, turning on her.

Cara pulls her hand free and faces me with flushed cheeks and furious eyes. “Yes.”

My blood kicks hard. “He touched you.”

“He gave us himself,” she says, dragging one hand through her loose hair. “What is wrong with you?”

She fixes her coat. “Velenko matters because he isn’t Morozov’s soldier. He has a clean name. Retired judge. Charity-registration fixer. Customs contact. Men like him make New Harbor and Sable Crown look clean to Elena’s office.”

I step closer. “You let him corner you.”

Cara lifts her chin. “Patrick used Lena because people trust her. He used Velenko because he can open doors, clean records, and scare everyone into silence.”

“He put his hand on you,” I say, and my voice comes out rough.

“Yes.” She takes a step back. “Velenko showed himself because I challenged him. He corrected me, touched me, and warned me because men like him can’t stand being tested by a woman.”

Her voice breaks. Her hand goes to my shirt, fist closing in the fabric. Then she starts shaking.

I stop where I am.

Cara looks up at me. “Can’t you see?” she says, pulling me closer by the shirt. “I was scared. I did it scared.”

Every violent thought in me changes direction.

“You’re not Mata Hari,” I say, cupping her jaw with a hand that won’t stay steady. “And I’m not built to watch men put hands on you and call it strategy.”