The boss was on the ground, where Kohl had kicked him in the stomach and face. Aina hauled him up and turned him around. Kohl’s blue Durozvy eyes narrowed as he approached.

Brass knuckles appeared on Kohl’s fist, the color clashing with the silver-and-sapphire watch he always wore. Both glinted in the sunlight when his fist swung. She held steady as he struck the boss in the jaw. Bone cracked, blood leaked down his chin, he muttered something about not meaning to offend Kohl.

“Offend?” Kohl’s eyes had widened in shock. “You haven’t offended me in the slightest. All you’ve done is show me you can’t count money properly.”

He knelt, sweeping away the dark brown hair getting in his face. Aina couldn’t help wincing a little when he pulled out a dagger in the span of a breath. He was so quick, she’d missed the moment when he took it out. The boss Aina held down whimpered.

“If you can’t count, I see no reason for you to have hands.” Kohl smiled up at Aina as if this were a fun game. “Which one should I remove, Aina?”

“The right,” she answered instantly.

It didn’t matter to her which hand he took, but she could show no hesitation in answering. She’d vowed to show her worth to the man who’d given her a home and a job, who’d saved her from a bombing in a bar when she was twelve. She had to prove she was worth keeping around.

Kohl might only be twenty-four, but the tales of his reign over the south of Kosín were enough to have spanned several lifetimes. She’d studied him over the years, learning how to be merciless herself. He ensnared children like her whom no one would miss, frightening street kids who were already used to terrors, then offered them the chance to become the frightening ones themselves. She’d latched on to that chance like she gripped her knives.

But she wasn’t a scared child anymore.

“You look tired, Aina.” He took a step closer, making warmth rise on her cheeks. “Late night?”

“No more than usual,” she said with a shrug. The box of coins inside her jacket jostled, and her heart stopped. She shook the ones in her hand to mask the sound, wondering why he’d brought her to his office. There was always a risk he’d sent his Shadow, Mazir, to spy on her. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck.

His eyes locked on hers, and she held the stare. No one else in the Dom would dare to meet his gaze, but the unspoken rules of the hierarchy had never seemed to apply to her.

Kohl nodded, breaking eye contact, and walked around the desk. His back faced her for a moment. Did he trust her enough to turn away from her? Could she really kill him, or had she simply gotten used to calculating ways to put a knife through flesh? Did a jeweler not contemplate how to cut and shape a precious gem?