A few minutes later, Katya's voice echoed from downstairs. "Kairen! Viktor!"
I sighed and stubbed out the cigarette, tossing it into an ashtray on the nightstand. Viktor stepped back, gesturing for me to go first.
We found Katya in the living room, pouring herself a glass of vodka. She looked up when we entered, a faint smile on her lips.
"Good news," she said. "We've been invited to a party tomorrow night. One of the Yakuza families is hosting. Very exclusive. Very... lucrative."
I groaned. "No."
She raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"I'm done with parties," I said flatly. "I almost died in one two a day ago. I'm not doing that again. I'm also done with rich assholes pretending to be civilized while they plan murders over champagne. I'm not going."
Katya's smile didn't waver. "You don't have a choice."
"I always have a choice."
"Not when your father's the one giving orders." She took a sip of her drink. "He wants you there. So you'll be there."
