Page 95 of Single Mom's Daddies
I kiss the top of her head. These are the days I live for. The ones where she’s just a little girl and I’m the luckiest mom in the world. I grab a LEGO and join in the fun, praying for it to last one more minute.
One more minute where I can pretend nothing else exists.
26
ROMAN
Joe Costello is makingmoves again. And this time, he’s not being subtle.
I press my thumb against the bridge of my nose and lean over the map table in the war room—a space we stopped calling the war room five years ago, but everyone still knows what it is. Hardwood floors, velvet chairs, low lighting. From the outside, it looks like the boardroom of an elite collector or private foundation. But in here, the old ghosts never left.
The reports are spread across the table. Customs delays. Dockside interference. “Random” inspections along the usual freight lanes. Shipments from Svet being redirected to holding facilities where we have no eyes and no leverage.
We’ve seen this before.
It’s a squeeze. The kind Costello’s crew specializes in. They’re not trying to shut us down. Not yet. They’re trying to remind us they exist. Trying to take away our sense of control—one inch at a time.
I step back and exhale through my teeth. This is only the beginning.
I leave the reports where they are and head to the main library. It’s where we meet when things are about to tip, and this is one of those times. The house is too still today—too clean, too bright, too quiet. Ivy’s upstairs playing board games with the others. Saffron’s with her, and I’m glad for that, because I need the grown-ups focused.
Victor and Nikolai are already there, talking in low voices near the fireplace. Max leans back in one of the leather chairs, boots up on the ottoman like he owns the place, which pisses me off before I even say a word.
Aunt Olenna stands near the wet bar, one hand on her cane, the other clutching a tumbler of neat vodka at nine in the morning. She’d never give up her breakfast spirits.
I shut the doors behind me. “We’ve got a problem.”
That’s all it takes.
Victor folds his arms. Nikolai shifts his weight. Olenna’s already smiling like she saw this coming.
“Costello or Ruger?” Victor asks.
“Costello. He’s blocking our freight. Svet’s pieces are being delayed, rerouted. Some aren’t moving at all. This isn’t coincidence. It’s pressure.”
Nikolai sighs. “He’s trying to goad us.”
“He’s trying to make a point,” I reply. “And I think he’s just getting started.”
Olenna lifts her glass slightly. “Then we strike first.”
“No,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “You’ve gotten soft.”
“We’re trying to stay clean. Legit enough to survive. If we hit first, we drag everything back into the blood. We lose the buyers. We lose Svet’s trust. We lose our leverage.”
“You will never lose Svet’s trust if you do what must be done,” she counters.
“We keep eyes on Costello,” Max offers, straightening in his chair. “Let me track him.”
“No,” Nikolai says flatly.
Max stares. “Excuse me?”
“Tell him,” Nikolai says to Max.
I look at Max. My chest tightens. Because I want to keep him close. But I can’t. Uncle Max is too old-school for how we operate now. I don’t want to think of him as a liability, but he makes it impossible.
