Page 89 of Dirty Game

Dante hesitates, then obeys. He walks with a guard away, and the door clicks shut behind them.

Sienna turns to follow, but Mikhail puts a hand on her arm. “Not yet. We finish business.”

She bristles but stands her ground.

Mikhail faces me square. “Shared territory. Or we change plans and I take the boy to Russia permanently.”

The words are sharp, but he’s making a power play.

I nod once. “You make the first move, I make the last.”

He laughs, and this time it’s genuine. “That’s what I like about you, King. No illusions.”

Sienna moves past him, brushing my shoulder as she goes. There’s a whisper of perfume, old memories, and the sound of a blade leaving its sheath.

When they’re gone, I stand alone in the room. The only evidence of the exchange is the faint trace of blood on my lip where I bit through it to keep from screaming.

I linger in the lobby after the Russians leave, watching my own reflection in the glass. Not the man I was an hour ago. Maybe not even the man who woke up this morning.

The phone vibrates in my pocket.

Message from Jensen:

She’s in the bathroom. Corner stall. Won’t come out.

I take the stairs, slow. Every step has the weight of regret.

The women’s restroom is all chrome and black tile, an echo chamber for private pain.

The lights are dimmed, the janitor’s cart abandoned near the door.

I push inside. The air smells like bleach and something saltier—grief or fear, I can’t decide.

She’s not in a stall.

She’s against the far wall, arms wrapped around her ribs, forehead resting against the tile.

Eyes red but dry now. Not the weak kind of crying. The kind you do after you’ve run out of hope.

She doesn’t look up until I’m two feet away.

She speaks first. “How much did you love her?”

Her voice is tiny, unsure of itself even as it speaks. The echo makes it sound louder, but I know the truth.

I want to lie. But I don’t.

“Completely.”

Rosalynn’s jaw works, like she’s chewing over the answer. Her fingers knead the fabric of her dress, twisting it into a tourniquet.

“And now?” she says, not quite able to look at me.

I move closer. Our reflections merge on the black tile. “Now I feel nothing for her.”

It’s true. I don’t have the capacity anymore. Sienna drained me dry years ago, and what was left went up in smoke tonight.

Rosalynn closes her eyes, but the lines of her mouth say everything. “But your son…”