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Interpreting the silence as weakness, Ryan looks back at me. "Did you get my letter?"

"I did."

"And?"

"And? Just what exactly do you expect me to say? Do you think alettercan fix the past? Do you think it absolves you ofyourpart of what your father did? Of whatyoudid?"

A light turns towards us, so bright that it makes my eyes water. When my eyes adjust, I see a camera from NBC 5 pointing at me. Nearby, a reporter stands with her microphone in hand, waiting for her opportunity.

"My father was a good man."

"Your father was?—"

"Murdered in his office. Yes." Ryan interrupts me quickly. "By criminal thugs who continue to terrorize these streets, who continue to use fronts like Mr. Jackson's to launder their money, and who continue to take from good hard-working New Yorkers for their own personal gains. But thanks to a tip from a goodSamaritan by the name of Lola Volkov, we can now start the process of correcting these historic injustices. We can start down the long road of putting New York back on track."

I know what he's doing.

By using Lola's name, he's telling me that heknowsAnatoly killed his father.

More importantly, he's using this opportunity to show me just how much power he still holds over me and Anatoly while also telling us openly that he's under Volkov protection.

Even with a TV camera shoved into my face, I can't speak the truth about Grant Bennet, about what he really is and the things he made me do.

Because if I do, Ryan will take this opportunity to destroy Anatoly.

"Mr. Bennet," Anatoly speaks up.

The blinding light shifts ever so slightly away from my face, and the camera turns to focus on Anatoly.

"Lola Volkov is not someone you should trust," he says.

Ryan's eyes narrow slightly. "And who should I trust? Someone like you?"

"No." Anatoly smiles politely, but his eyes remain as cold and threatening as ever. "You shouldn't trust someone like me either."

He takes a step towards Ryan. Sensing the tension, the cameraman edges closer as well.

"Most importantly, you should be careful with what you say about criminal thugs," Anatoly doesn't raise his voice, yet it continues to carry perfectly through the cold air. "Your father met a grisly end for simply suggesting that he go after organized crime, and now you're taking an active part in it. What's to say that same person who murdered your father won't hesitate to do the same to you."

"You—" Ryan snarls.

Anatoly holds up a single finger.

And miraculously, the gesture is enough to finally get Ryan to shut the fuck up.

"I would choose your next words very carefully, Mr. Bennet. You never know who might be watching."

Savage satisfaction thrums through me as Ryan's face drains of color. The façade of confidence starts to chip and crack. His Adam's apple bobs visibly as he swallows. He tries to keep his eyes focused on Anatoly, but his nerves get the best of him and he steals a sideways glance towards the camera as beads of sweat begins to gather on his brows.

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Baryshev?" he finally asks.

"Threatening? No." Anatoly's expression remains perfectly neutral. "Just making an observation."

"Stay out of this, Mr. Baryshev." Ryan tries to square up. "Amelia doesn't need you fighting her battles."

"In case you've forgotten, Mr. Bennet. She is my wife."

Anatoly steps closer until he's looking down at Ryan. The cops nearby also step forward. But this doesn't deter Anatoly. Heinvades Ryan's personal space, and continues to step forward until he's practically sneering down at Ryan.