Page 21 of A Life Betrayed

The Russian shrugged. “With Truman, it could be anything. He likes to throw shit at the wall and see what sticks.”

“Yeah, we knew that going in.”

So why did I let this happen?There had been plenty of opportunities to sever ties with the man and wash his hands of their whole joint venture. Mathias didn’t want to dwell on the reason he hadn’t—which had nothing to do with Truman.

“It seems he’s outlived his usefulness. Now might be a good time to cut him loose.” Gurin raised his drink to his lips and swallowed, then he placed the half-empty glass back on the bar between them. “Want me to see what I can find out?”

Mathias nodded. “Any trouble he’s in, anything the cops have on him, I want to know about it.”

“I can do that,” Gurin said, absently twirling his glass on its coaster. “I hear you’re due a favor.”

“You have a better memory than your boss.”

Gurin chuckled. “His is selective. Belkov doesn’t like owing people.”

“Then he should stop asking for help. But quiet, yes? The last thing I need is for Truman to get wind of the fact that I’m looking into him.”

“Please,” Gurin said with a smirk. “He’s so far up his own ass I’d be surprised if I registered.” He downed the rest of his drink. “How’s business in Montreal? Margins as crippled as ours with the increased border scrutiny?”

Fortunately, the family had always made efforts to diversify its income streams. When Narcotics took a hit, one of the other divisions picked up the slack. The Bratva’s Hamilton activities were almost exclusively tied to their cross-border drug trade, which made them particularly susceptible to recent government crackdowns.

“Piper has a lot to answer for,” Mathias said. “You have my sympathy.”

“I’ll need more than that if things don’t pick up soon,” Gurin grumbled and signaled the barman for a refill.

After Gurin had left, Mathias dropped a couple of notes down on the bar and slipped the envelope of photos into his jacket. He stood and looked again at his watch, his resolve buckling. The pull was frightening, calling to him with a power that made Mathias want to neglect his duties and throw caution to the wind. He was so close it seemed almost cruel not to.

It would be tight, but there was time.

When Rayan opened the door to his apartment, he found Mathias sitting on the sofa in the living room. His jacket was draped over the back cushions, and he had Rayan’s thesis proposal in his hand. The folder lay open on the coffee table, where Rayan had left it that morning.

“Where have you been?” Mathias asked, his voice betraying a hint of agitation.

“The library.” Rayan hung up his coat and dropped his bag to the floor. “Not so fun, is it?” he teased, moving to the sofa. “Waiting around for someone to show.”

Mathias arched an eyebrow, and Rayan plopped down beside him with a grin. “When did you get in?”

“I’m not staying,” Mathias said. “I had something to discuss with Gurin.”

“About what?”

“This is what you’re working on?” Mathias asked, ignoring his question and flipping through the pages in his hand.

“It’s a study of moral luck. Nagel’s a big proponent.”

Mathias gave a snort of laughter. “Moral luck?”

“The idea that we’re morally assessable only to the extent that we’re assessed for factors under our control.”

“Open to interpretation,” Mathias said with a shrug.

Rayan hid a smile. Naturally, that was how he viewed things. “Somewhat. It’s more an argument that we can be judged for our intentions, just not the results of our intentions.”

Mathias tossed the proposal down on the coffee table and turned to him with a cynical look. “You realize who you’re talking to.”

Rayan’s eyes dropped to the signet ring on Mathias’s right hand. “I’m sitting in lectures with kids whose biggest moral dilemma is whether to buy free-trade coffee beans.”

“And you think you’re more qualified to weigh in on the subject?”

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