It’s packed to the rafters already. Lights arc across the ceiling. Bodies grind together on thedancefloor. Rising above it all is the thunder of the music.
But we don’t go out to the main dancefloor. One of the Bratva men on security detail leads us down adark hall and up to another imposing iron door.
On the other side is where the meeting will take place. No doubt the other Family heads are alreadyhere. Father does not tolerate tardiness.
Just before the bodyguard opens the door for us, Father holds up a hand to signal for him to wait.
He turns to me and rests a wrinkled old hand on my wrist.
I frown in confusion. “What?” I ask.
He’s got that look on his face, the one I’ve learned not to like.
“You’re not coming in,” he says finally.
Budimir lays a reassuring hand
