Page 115 of Silent Ties

“Calm down, it’s only been twenty minutes,” Roma says.

“Too fucking long.” I pace, my legs moving but my eyes remain on the door.

Roma frowns. “We’ve got movement.”

It takes me a second to recognize her. “Is that?”

Lennie Akatov wears a dress and a pair of sneakers on her feet. She ambles down the street, a canvas tote bag over her shoulder. There’s not even a guard nearby. The family restaurant insists on being a neutral ground, but I find it hard to believe Boris Akatov is letting his daughter, adult or not, walk around by herself.

Sensing us, her eyes roam from her sneakers to across thestreet. She comes to a complete stop, pausing for a second outside Fujimori’s, eyes wide.

Then she steps inside.

A burst of delight takes over the hostess’ face. She points, not bothering to show Lennie to a table.

She knows her way around.

Abe, the grandson of the original owner, swaggers out from the kitchen, arms out. He grabs her to his side and Roma claps a hand on Elijah’s shoulder.

“We cannot burn down Fujimori’s,” he warns.

Elijah’s deathly still. A prickle of heat zaps the back of my neck as I carefully watch him.

His eyes linger on Lennie through the window, his gaze following her long after she’s disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

Roma shares a look with me, multiple questions running between us.What is she doing here? What would happen if Elijah burned down Fujimori’s?

I shrug.

As odd as it is, my concern lies somewhere else.

Why did Ren call Russet in for a meeting?

CHAPTER 29

Russet

I’ve heard stories about Fujimori’s. It is to the criminal world what Abbey Road is to musicians. Or Old Trafford to Manchester United fans. An iconic place albeit to a very specific group of people.

Standing here, I realize it’s just a restaurant. The floors, made out of black and white tiles, are polished and clean. The booths are all dark red. Florescent lights flicker. Along the windows, a few green leafy plants create a cozy atmosphere.

A hostess stands behind a small station. She nods toward the back.

I walk between the booths. A few tables are full and straight ahead, along the back wall, I can see into the kitchen. A flame fans out and a younger guy yells at another worker.

I spot Ren Callahan before she looks up.

She’s tucked into a corner near the kitchen and looks at home in the booth, leaning back comfortably. She keeps a planner open in front of her, tapping a pencil to the paper.

A girl in a sweatsuit, with a blonde bun, sits on a chair pulled up. They murmur to each other, the blonde spottingme first.

I grew up on Aunt Macy stories, the old woman as much of an institution as this restaurant. A living legend. She existed long before Lev Zimin and Boris Akatov. She survived while others came and went.

A neutral party they always said. One had to respect her position because even in the world of criminals, some rules must be followed.

I know every job Nancy got came through Aunt Macy. Tyler didn’t talk about it, but I know he went to her for work as well at one point.

I never met the legend while she lived, but people talked when Ren, her niece, took over the business.

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