Page 56 of Mayflower

“I’m at Rave’s,” I reply.

“Oh.” Little sounds upset.

Both Raven and I know what this means.

“Raven might go to sleep soon,” I say, “but I can get your bodyguard to bring you here if you want to stay with us.”

“Yes! Can I? Maddy, can I? Please? Ask Raven. Can I? Can I?”

Raven tries not to smile while chewing, but his chest shakes with a chuckle.

And here we are again—Little and I, fighting for Raven’s attention.

19

RAVEN

A week since my coming back, the Center has become the war headquarters. With Tsariuk’s presence, it feels like a military camp. Before, we stalled trying to work out how to get prepared for the worst. To be honest, my thing with Skiba in the jungle felt like it was supposed to be the end. But Tsariuk has a plan for another world war. Here, on Zion.

His presence feels like a visit from POTUS as Archer, Ortiz, Marlow, Bishop, and the heads of IT and Security sit at a large conference table at the Center.

Tsariuk is at the head of it, in Archer’s seat. I think Archer is more relieved than annoyed. Next to Tsariuk is one of his personal assistants, who looks like a blond Dracula, wearing glasses and constantly checking his multiple phones, occasionally passing one or another to Tsariuk.

“I have personal interest in this island,” Tsariuk says, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on his nose. He takes his eyes off the papers in his hands and leans back in his chair, scanning everyone at the table over his glasses. He sure knows how to work the room. “Not because of the contracts I now fulfill. Thanks to Mr. Levi.” He nods in my direction. “But my daughter. Her safety is my priority. She refused to leave, so now you must understand that I cannot just sit and watch you act amateurish.”

Everyone is quiet. The security heads pucker their lips, exchanging glances. I can tell that everyone smirked collectively at the word “amateurish.” Tsariuk doesn’t filter his language. He doesn’t give a shit. Maybe it’s a cultural thing.

“You want to keep Ayana safe and get rid of Butcher, you let me handle it,” he says, not flustered by his overbearing authority.

“Mr. Tsariuk,” Archer intervenes, “in all fairness, we have our own IT?—”

“You have shit, Mr. Crone, excuse my language.” Still, his tone doesn’t change. Neither does its pitch. He’s not angry or trying to offend. He’s only stating facts. And he’s right. “I looked into your board members and financials.” He taps the pen in his hand on the table in front of him as he continues. “Your security budget was cut in half, yes? I know from personal experience, some of your security is on good terms with Butcher. Your port is a joke. Has been for a while, if I am honest. I studied your surveillance perimeter maps, your guards’ prior records and employment, the illegal shipments. Your Ayana network has so many holes that my friend’s eighteen-year-old high-school dropout hacked it.”

I see Bishop rolling his eyes.

Tsariuk gives us a crooked smile. “Heard of the Crocodile of Wall Street back in the day, yes? Nothing is hard for the right people. The kid is part of the BlackCat and now is integrated with Scattered Spider. Do not feel bad. They stole classified Pentagon files after the Change. So, Ayana was a weekend project.”

Tsariuk is cocky, sure. But he is also undeniably the man with the most advanced connections and professionals on his payroll. We know exactly the reach and power Tsariuk has. He has a degree in nuclear engineering, an uncanny fact, considering the world is where it is because of nuclear bombings.

And Tsariuk is throwing it in our faces. That’s okay. You know why?

Archer knows Ayana needs support, even if it comes at a cost, the cost being his pride and Gen-Alpha’s accessibility to Tsariuk.

Bishop knows exactly what Tsariuk’s hackers can do and did, in fact, several times, jailbreaking Ayana’s security. We want those guys on our side.

Ortiz and Marlow know how important Tsariuk’s military connections are. We need those, too.

A smart man who doesn’t give a fuck about the world doesn’t pick sides. Instead, he gathers intel on everyone. That’s Tsariuk. He has his people in every hole of this island. His team found me before ours did.

Me? I sit back and enjoy the show. My dealings with Butcher are done. But Butcher is by no means done with Ayana. In fact, the havoc I wreaked at his headquarters probably made him mad. So, yeah, we need Tsariuk, this cocky wanna-be-world’s-godfather wizard who drinks cognac for breakfast and probably eats his enemies chopped up into taco meat for dinner.

Also, he so happens to be the father of my beautiful girl. I’ll make the motherfucker like me. I think he already does.

“So, listen up,” he says, leans forward on the table, and pushes the reader glasses up his nose as he picks up another sheet of paper his blond Dracula passes to him. “I have the spreadsheets with numbers for Ayana residents and your security personnel.”

Of course, he does. The guy just humbled the top echelon of Ayana’s finest.

The room is quiet, but bitterness and amusement simmer under the surface. I lock eyes with Bishop, and I feel like we are both trying to hold back smiles.

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