“Father,” I say, nodding as he turns. “Don Bastone. Enzo.”
The men nod back. Don Bastone’s sneer turns wicked.
“Hello, Maxim,” he says. “It seems I’ve caught your father unaware.”
I resist the urge to strangle him and turn away.
“Father,” I say, stepping forward.
But he interrupts me. His tone is icy cold like a frozen knife jabbed into my throat. His face is a mask of cold fury. He controls himself well but I know his looks. I know he wants to break my neck and leave me for dead.
“Don’t call me that. I am your Pakhan. I am not your father.”
I am not your father.
Those words reverberate through my skull and rip me to pieces with their razor-sharp implications.
I am not your father.
I’ve built my entire world on that fact. My self-esteem, my work ethic, my outlook on life is all based on the fact that my family takes the idea of bloodlines extremely seriously, and I am not a blood descendent of my father. I know this, we all know this, and yet hearing him say it like that breaks my heart into a million pieces.
I feel like a child again, like that stupid, desperate teenager I used to be, fighting harder, working harder, being more vicious and ruthless than anyone else, all for his approval.
I am not your father.
I harden myself. I push it all down and away. I summon the image of Siena again—bending over, shy smile—and a surge of anger swells up to buoy me against my father’s scorn.
“Very well. Pakhan.”
He nods once. “Don Bastone told me an interesting thing about your relationship with his daughter. It seems that you made a deal with him.”
“Yes, Pakhan. I did.” There’s no lying now. There’s no dancing around the truth. It’s time to own my mistake for what it is.
A betrayal of my family.
“Who gave you that authority?”
“Nobody, Pakhan. I acted on my own initiative.”
“And yet you know that your marriage status is important to this family. You were given some leeway out of respect, but not this much.” Father steps toward me, his hands behind his back. Enzo doesn’t look up. He keeps his eyes on the floor like he’s not enjoying this. But Don Bastone looks absolutely delighted. “You were supposed to be my heir. And now, I wonder.”
“Pakhan.” I lower my head. “I was going to tell you. I wanted to make sure—”
“Make sure what? That you ingratiated her into our family? That you could convince your sisters to talk to me—” I didn’t move. He grunted and nodded to himself. “Your mother then?” I nod slightly and he laughs. “Yes, that might’ve worked. She’s very convincing, and I suppose your mother would fall for your bullshit. She’s soft like that. But unfortunately, the game’s over, and you’re finished.”
My jaw clenches. I’m so angry, so humiliated, and all I want to do is slam my fist into Don Bastone’s smiling face, again and again, until his teeth are nothing but chips of flecked bone lodged in the back of his throat.
“You plotted with the head of another family,” Father says. “I am furious, Maxim. I am beyond furious. What were you thinking?”
I raise my chin. “I was thinking I could save that girl from hell. The hell her own father put her in.”
Don Bastone chuckles. “Did he mention that my daughter is a traitor? I suppose he didn’t.”
“Enough,” Father snaps at Don Bastone. Bastone’s smile fades and he stops laughing. Father rubs his face and looks back to me. “You fucked up, Maxim. You should’ve come to me from the start. Instead, we’re doing this in front of these—” He waves a hand at Enzo and Don Bastone as if they’re trash that rolled in from the curb.
“This isn’t her fault,” I say quietly. “She had nothing to do with it. I chose this.”
Father laughs. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sending her away. She’s to return with her father and her brother, and don’t you dare open your mouth to argue.”
I snap my jaw shut. I’m seething, raging. What will they do to her?
Father steps closer. “If you disobey me, I will kill Siena. Look at me, Maxim.” I meet his cold, dead eyes. “I will cut her throat whether her father likes it or not. You know I will.”
He’s not lying. I’ve seen him do terrible things—I’ve done those terrible things for him.
“I understand.” I feel as though my body might break at any moment.
“Make sure that you do. If you go near her, she will die. If you fuck up one more time, she will die. If I have a bad day, she will die, and you’ll die with her.” He snaps his fingers and points at Don Bastone. “Get up. Your daughter’s waiting for you in the hallway. Take her and leave.”
“Yes, Pakhan Novalov, but sir, I was wondering—”