Chapter 257: Threat

There was a silence.

The machines hummed on. A drop of water fell somewhere in the pipes. The doctors did not breathe. Then the Don laughed.

It was not loud. It was a dry, quiet sound, the kind of laugh a man makes when he hears a joke told by a child. To most people, words like those would be a death sentence. To a man like him, they were a threat, and a threat was just a thing to be answered.

"You are threatening me, Kalisto."

"I am reminding you."

"No." The laugh was gone. "You are threatening me." The Don took one step forward. Then another. He was smaller than Kalisto, but he did not look it.

"Don’t forget where you are standing," he said. His voice was very calm. "This is my territory. You are in my lap. The men outside this door are mine, and the doctors behind you eat from my table."

Kalisto did not blink.

"I remember your help, twenty years ago. I will never say I don’t." The Don’s eyes were hard and bright. "But you are speaking to a different man now. I am not who I was then. And my patience for disrespect is zero."

The last word fell like a coin on stone.

"I understand that many of you old folks are impatient," he went on. "Age does that. You feel the clock. But things will go according to my pace. Not yours. Not your friends’."

His jaw tightened.

"I will not lose my wife again by rushing things. I did that once. I will not do it twice." He drew a breath, and his voice dropped to almost nothing. "And Katalia is a full grown woman now. She is not five years old anymore. She will not do what she is told because it is easier."

He held Kalisto’s eyes. "So go to the dinner. Eat my food. Drink my wine. But do not come into my house and give me orders."

For a long moment, neither man moved. Kalisto studied him. Slowly, his smile came back, wider than before, and it was somehow worse than the cold one.

"Your wife," he said.

The Don said nothing.

"Yes. Your brother’s wife, beautiful Helena." Kalisto let the name roll out of his mouth, soft and slow. "The face that launched a thousand ships. I am looking forward to seeing her again."

The doctors stared at the floor. They could feel the air changing. Kalisto let out a deep breath and shook his head, as if the thought made him sad.

"None of us want to see her lose her mind again, Konstantin. That was a hard time for everyone. So we will give you time." He lifted one finger. "As a friend."

"Generous," the Don said.

"But I want you to think about something. If her husband, Viktor, is not of help to you..." Kalisto smiled gently. "Replace him."

The Don’s eyes did not move.

"My son is good with princesses. He knows how to keep them under control, and very obedient. He does what he is told." He tapped the cane once on the floor. "Then there would be no more problems. For anyone."

It sounded like a kind offer, but it was a knife with a ribbon on it. For a moment, the Don only looked at him.

Then he spoke, calmly, as if he were discussing the weather.

"I agree it was a good arrangement. I made it myself." He folded his hands behind his back. "I thought old Kessler would still be alive to make his son follow our plans. But he is not. That is not a problem."

"No?"

"I will speak to Viktor. As my rightful son-in-law, he will come on board." His mouth curved, thin and cold. "A man learns fast when he has a wife to protect."

"And my son?"

"Your son is not fit for my princess." The Don said it without any heat. "Maybe Carina. Maybe. But no one is good enough for my Katalia. Not yours. Not anyone’s."

Kalisto’s smile held. But for one half second, something sour passed behind it, and then it was gone. "As you say." He seemed about to answer more. He did not.

The Don turned his back on him, and for the first time since Kalisto walked in, he looked at the three doctors.

They stood very straight.

"Listen carefully," he said. "From now on, everything is manual. Handwritten. Every result, every note, every outcome. Nothing goes on a computer. Nothing is sent. Nothing is said over a phone."

"Yes, Don."

"I want no surprises. None." His voice dropped. "If I find that one word of this has left these walls, I will know it came from one of you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Don," the doctors said together.

Their voices shook.

Behind them, Kalisto watched. He leaned on his cane and looked at the wall of charts, at Sienna’s name in careful pen. His eyes were bright and quiet.

"I need to head back home," he said at last. "I need to be ready for the evening. At my age,"

He lifted his hand in a small wave.

"Alright, Konstantin. I will see you tonight."

The Don glared at him.

It was a long look, and it said what he did not. Do not come. Do not bring them. Do not touch what is mine.

Kalisto only smiled.

Then the Don turned and walked out of the lab. His white jacket flashed once under the cold light, and the steel door sighed shut behind him.

Behind it, in the humming quiet, Kalisto stood alone for a moment. The doctors did not dare to look at him. He glanced down at the papers on the wall. Then he followed, slowly, his cane tapping the floor.

–

The door closed softly, and the room went quiet.

Sienna stood still for a moment. She had not really looked at this room before. Now she saw it: a wide bed with white sheets, tall windows with white curtains, a soft rug, a vase of white roses on the table. Everything was clean and perfect. It looked like a room in a magazine.

It looked like a very nice cage.

Viktor and Helena had let her go in alone. "Rest," Helena had said, touching her cheek. "We will make you something to eat." Viktor had said nothing, but his eyes had stayed on her until the door shut between them.

Sienna walked to the bed and let herself fall on it. The sheets smelled of soap. Her whole body felt heavy, as if someone had filled her bones with wet sand. She stared up at the ceiling and listened to her own breathing.

Outside the door, far down the hall, she could hear Viktor’s voice. Low and sharp. He was talking to a maid, and he was not asking.

It is only tired, Sienna told herself. Her stomach still rolled. The room tilted a little when she closed her eyes. It is all the bad things I saw today. The cell. The gun. The red room. Anyone would feel sick.

It was a good thought. It was reasonable. She held on to it. But her fingers kept moving on her own. They crept to her wrist and found her pulse again, and she pressed down and counted.

She had read it wrong in the car. She was sure she had. She had been scared, and shaking, and her hands had been cold. A tired med student could easily make a mistake.

Unless I did not. She counted again, slowly, with her eyes shut.

The beat was fast. That part was easy. But it was not only fast. Under the quick, hard rhythm there was something else, a second signal, uneven and strange, like two people knocking on the same door at different times.

It was giving her two different answers.

She knew what that could mean. It could be one thing, or it could be another. Maybe even both. She would not know for sure until a test told her, and she did not have a test. She only had her fingers and her training.

And neither answer was good.

She let go of her wrist and pressed her hand flat on her stomach. She kept it there for a long moment, then pulled it away like it was hot.

Not now, she thought. Please. Not now. There was another weight on her, and it was heavier.

She had a plan. She had made it carefully, back when the world was simpler. If she could prove what the Don was doing, every illegal deal and every dirty account, she could bring it all into the light. Then she and Viktor could walk out of this world. A trade. His crimes for their freedom.

She had been proud of that plan. Now it lay in pieces on the white sheets. Every account is in my mother’s name. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.