Page 119 of Raven

Sonny notices me watching him and freezes for a second like a deer in the headlights. I wink at him, and his face relaxes. And he winks back, with that fucked-up wink where his entire face contorts, his mouth crooked.

I stifle a burst of laughter. I hope I can guide this kid somewhere—whatever future Ayana can build for him, if I’m still here. Wishful thinking. Wishful kindness, I suppose.

When he snatches a pack of chips from my kitchen—he thinks he is sneaky, not knowing I keep them there just for him—I call my IT guy at the Center.

“Any news about the private network used to jailbreak Ayana?”

“Not really. It’s heavily encrypted. Whoever set it up is good. Very good. But I can tell you what region it comes from.”

“And?”

“Every time we try to break into the network’s encryption, a warning image pops up. A symbol actually. It’s a crown with the initials AT on it.”

Aleksei Tsariuk.

I want to say that it’s a surprise, but it’s not.

Now I really think we need to sit down and discuss this.

As soon as I hang up, my phone rings again, and I stare at the screen, my blood chilling.

Unknown ID.

I pick up, wondering what this call brings this time. Another threat from Butcher?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Levi.”

“Yes?” I say, not recognizing the voice. But one thing instantly catches my attention—the cut-throat Russian accent.

“Please, do not hang up. It is in your best interests,” the low stern voice says, making my skin crawl.

I know exactly what he is about to say. It has to be a messenger sent by the Tsar.

But I’m wrong.

“My name is Aleksei Tsariuk.” It’s the Tsar himself. “And I would very much like to talk to you about my daughter.”

Fuck.

45

RAVEN

Whereas the world’s doomsday was loud, with people’s lives literally being set ablaze, mine comes in a businesslike, even somewhat-pleasant voice with a Russian accent. “You are fucked, Raven.”

Tsariuk didn’t say that but his call pretty much sums it up.

It feels weird not because I’m talking to one of the most powerful men in the Northern Hemisphere. And not because he killed people for less than giving his precious daughter a side-eye. But because he is the father of the girl I was fucking. Not only that, the girl I still have an interest in. I don’t know how, but he knows it.

“I know my daughter is at Ayana, Mr. Levi,” he announces.

There is no point in lying or arguing. I try to find words that won’t insult him by being too vague.

“Now we know that too,” I say.

“Not because of what I just said.”

“No.”

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