Page 66 of Kingmakers, Graduation

“Good,” Adrik says. “I’m taking Sabrina out for a drink.”

That’s all. He gives no instructions. Dinner breaks up, Andrei washing the dishes because it’s his turn.

As we exit the kitchen I ask Adrik, “Don’t you have any orders?”

“They know what they need to do. They’ll come to me if they need help.”

Interesting. This is unlike what I’m used to, even in relatively flexible mafia organizations. Adrik offers an unusual level of autonomy to his men.

“What’s theMusor?”I ask him.

“The cops. Don’t call ‘em that to their face, though—it meansgarbage.They’ve been raking us over the coals with the bribes. I’m gonna have to figure out some kind of leverage besides money or we’ll never make a profit.”

“Where are you taking me?” I ask him, wondering how to dress.

He smiles. “I’m gonna show you how we party in Moscow.”

20

ADRIK

Sabrina emerges from our room an hour later, wearing tight leather pants and a silky top I could crumple in one hand. Her hair, freshly washed and waved, floats around her like smoke. She’s lined her eyes with so much kohl that she looks like an Egyptian princess, or maybe something more sinister—a vengeful goddess demanding sacrifice.

Having Sabrina here in my house is so fucking satisfying, I can’t stop grinning.

I saw her and I knew that I needed her—like a good-luck talisman, or the Aquila carried by the Roman legions. Not because Sabrina is a token, but because she fills me with energy, she gives me power. I’m stronger with her here.

I’m determined to make her love Moscow. I want to show her its beauty and its potential.

I was never worried that she’d fit in at the house. Her introduction was exactly what I expected—Sabrina can handle herself. Like a cat surrounded by dogs, she knows how to give Vlad a slap on the nose if he growls at her.

In time she’ll come to know them all and respect them as I do. I haven’t brought anyone into the Wolfpack without good reason—including Sabrina herself. They’ll see her talent, and she’ll see theirs.

My bigger concern is acclimating her to Russia in general. Moscow is a jungle with just as many hidden dangers as the Amazon.

“Are we gonna take the bikes?” Sabrina asks, looking eagerly out into the yard.

“Sure,” I say. “You can take Jasper’s old bike. Until we get you your own.”

Sabrina makes no argument about taking the smaller, older Gold Wing. She knows we won’t be racing through Moscow’s congested streets.

We mount the bikes beneath the stone archway partially covering the parking pad.

I toss her a helmet.

“I don’t need that.”

Sabrina sets it down on the seat of Chief’s bike.

“You don’t wear a helmet?”

“The point of riding a bike is being out in the open. Feeling the air. Seeing what’s around you.”

“Until you crack your skull open on a curb. Don’t you think that’s kind of a stupid risk?”

Sabrina shrugs. “Everything we do is reckless. Everything’s a risk.”

Sabrina reminds me of a gambler intent on putting their entire stack on the line, just for the thrill of it.

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