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“No, thank you.”

“Pyotr.” He nods past me at Pyotr, who's waiting by the door. “You should have called ahead. I'd have sent a car.”

“She has a car,” Pyotr says.

“I'm here about the north dock,” I say.

Volkov's smile doesn't move. “What about it?”

“Oleg Rusakov's trucks have been using it for a week. Your ledger says it's empty.”

“Ah.” He leans back and laces his fingers over his stomach. “A small arrangement. Temporary. Your father's affairs are in such disarray right now. The accounts are frozen until the lawyers finish. My men still need paying. Rusakov offered a reasonable fee for some unused space, and I took it, to keep the lights on.”

“And where's the fee?”

“Being held. Safely.”

“By you?”

“By me.” He says it like I should be grateful.

“My father didn't do business with Rusakov.”

“Your father isn't here, Arinochka.” He says it gently. The way you'd explain something to a child. “That's the difficulty. Someone has to make decisions.”

“Then I'll make them.”

One of the men at the card table snorts.

Volkov's smile widens. “With respect. And I do mean with respect, because I loved your father like a brother. You don't own anything yet. Not this warehouse. Not these docks. Not until you're married.” He holds up a thick hand and counts. “Twenty-seven days, is it? Until then, these are men's matters. Go home. Grieve. Let us handle it.”

My face goes hot.

I've heard versions of that speech my whole life. From Papa. From Papa's friends. From men like this, at Papa's table, while we were sent upstairs. These aren't matters for you. Go and play. Go and grieve.

I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can put his men's matters.

And behind me, someone says, “She asked you a question.”

Every head in the room turns.

Garick is standing in the doorway.

I didn't hear him come up the stairs. Nobody did. He's in a dark coat with rain on the shoulders, hands in his pockets, and he looks exactly as calm as he did at three in the morning in his kitchen.

The men who didn't stand up for me stand up now.

Volkov's whole face changes. The smile turns into something broad and relieved, like the cavalry has arrived.

“Garick.” He finally gets to his feet. “Good. Good. Perhaps you can explain to Arina that...”

I notice he uses my name now, instead of a pet name no one gave him permission to use.

“I'm not here to explain anything.”

Garick walks into the room. He doesn't come and stand in front of me. He doesn't take the chair opposite Volkov or put his hands on the desk the way Papa used to when he wanted somebody to sweat.

He stops behind my shoulder. Slightly to the left.