“If you had just come to us, Yosif. If you had spoken to my father or my brothers this would have been handled. But you didn’t.”
His lip trembles.
“Take care of your mother. Once she passes, you leave. You don’t stay in New York. You don’t hide in Boston either. You go where I won’t know where you are. I won’t look for you, but you better stay where I can’t see you.”
He nods, his expression broken. I’ve just cut him off, and he will find no quarter with any Romanov. He’s completely on his own now.
“And if you tell your uncle we’ve spoken, there won’t be a place you can hide. Understand?”
His head pumps up and down double speed. “I won’t say a word. Not one fucking word.”
I stare at him for a long moment.
“Take him home,” I say to Yogi then gesture for Boris to follow me.
As we’re walking out of the warehouse my phone dings. A message from Charlotte. One of her workers is out sick; she’s going into the deli for the afternoon.
And my mood darkens even further.