Page 4 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“I always have work. That’s the beauty of being related to you. Password emergencies keep me humble.”

Dmitri’s eyes move between us. “You work for him?”

“God, no. I occasionally save him from the consequences of clicking things he shouldn’t.”

Patrick’s voice cools. “Enough.”

I look at him then, really look, and behind the expensive charm, I see it. Strain. A flicker of panic, carefully folded away. Patrick isn’t just hosting tonight. He’s selling something. Maybe access. Maybe loyalty. Maybe a version of himself that important men might buy.

Dmitri sees it. I can tell by the way he stops smiling.

A server passes, and Patrick snatches a glass he doesn’t need. “Antonov, there are people I want you to meet.”

“I’ve met enough.”

Patrick’s smile stalls. “Of course. Then maybe later.”

Dmitri turns his attention back to me, dismissing my brother without a word. I should find that horrifying. I do find it horrifying. I also find it deeply educational and inconveniently hot.

Patrick leans close to my ear. “Don’t start something you don’t understand.”

I answer softly enough that only he hears. “Then stop bringing me places where everything has a body count.”

His eyes flash. For one ugly second, he looks less like my brother and more like every man in this place who thinks family is just another asset class. Then the mask returns, and he walks away to rescue his evening from my personality.

I turn to Dmitri. “Congratulations. You scared off my brother. Do you do children’s parties?”

“Only if the children are armed.”

“That’s very Russian of you.”

The crowd presses around us, loud and glossy and false. Somewhere near the bar, Patrick is shaking hands with a man I know who runs numbers through laundromats and church raffles. Near the piano, two women compare diamonds while their husbands discuss port access in voices soft enough to be guilty. It’s the kind of night where every smile has paperwork behind it.

Dmitri shifts closer, not touching me, but making the space between us feel claimed anyway. “You don’t like his world.”

“Patrick’s world doesn’t like anyone. It just rents them until the bill comes due.”

“And still you came.”

“He’s my brother.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the excuse I keep using.”

His eyes stay on mine, and I hate that I want to tell him more. I don’t. Telling dangerous men the truth is how women end up as lessons. But there’s something about Dmitri that makes lying feel childish. He feels like standing close to a locked gate and wanting to know what’s on the other side.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I check it because my reflexes are better than my manners. It’s a message from Kathryn.

Still alive in the shark tank?

I type back, Barely. Send snacks and a priest.

Her reply comes fast. Priest unavailable. Snacks possible. Is Patrick behaving?

I look up. Patrick is laughing too hard beside a man whose watch could pay my rent for a year.

No.