The Bratva's Heir (Underworld Kings)

As a child, I found that stifling. When I became an adult, it made me physically nauseous. And now? I want to slap her.

I’m actually relieved when she comes out to the front stoop and shoos the camera crews away, though. “You aren’t supposed to be here for another hour. We won’t answer any questions until then.”

Some camp out and others leave, but enough stay that when I exit the vehicle, lights flash all around me.

“Go!” my mother screeches. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me. She eyes me coming up the walkway with a scowl, then forces her lips upward. “Hello, Clare.” When I draw nearer, her voice drops to a whisper. “Get in the house quickly so we can clean you up before the camera crews come back.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” I say in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “So glad I’m alive, too. Makes perfect sense your first priority is how I appear on the big screen.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I brush past her. I never talked back to her before, never really stood up to her. My silent victory came when I found my own personal place and success in this world, when I didn’t bow to her whims or cater to her requests.

Things are different now… since Constantine. I don’t have any patience for her bullshit. I feel a corner of my lips quirk up when I wonder if Constantine would feel the same way, before the realization that I won’t ever see him again dawns.

There’s a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, a yearning I can’t quite identify. It takes me a minute to really understand, to fully grasp that the one person I want right now, the one person I need right now… can’t be here. It feels like mourning.

Constantine doesn’t put up with anyone’s crap, and he wouldn’t do it now.

He’d be proud of me for standing up to my mother and her bullying ways. But something tells me if he was with me, she wouldn’t even try.

It’s a moot point, though. It doesn’t matter.

I’m here for a reason, even if he never knows what happens next. Even if I never see him again. I swallow the stab of pain that threatens to choke me.

I enter the double doors to the entryway and hear my father’s voice in the distance. In my mind’s eye, this would have gone so differently. I imagined coming back here and that they’d be glad to see me. Relieved of the fears they had around my abduction and safety. Instead, my mother wants to make sure I brush my hair, and my father’s on the phone, likely for yet another press conference, his absolute fave.

Even the housekeeper stays away from me, likely warned by my mother to leave me be. We wouldn’t want any of them on an interview, now, would we?

After my mother’s assured herself that no one’s absconded with her daughter or taken any pictures, she hurries in the house and slams the door.

“Oh, Clare,” she says in a pitying voice. “You do look a sight.”

“Do I? Can’t imagine why.” The dry sarcasm seems lost on my mother as she frowns, mulling over the stray lock of my hair she twists in her fingers.

“What can we do in such a short time,” she mutters to herself. “The hair is hopeless, but we can at least tuck it up and apply some decent makeup.”

I ignore the tingling in my nose and burning in my belly. Her rejection burns, but I’ve been here before. I’ve been rejected by someone who actually loved me.

I will survive again.

There are so few things in my control right now, it’s maddening, but I do have a few.

Top of the list, I need to see what the hell my father had to do with setting up Constantine, if anything. I wish my gut still said he was innocent, but for some reason, being back here, back in my childhood home, is making my doubts evaporate. I hate that.

Heavy footsteps sound behind me, and I turn just in time to see my father, his arms extended toward me.

“Clare! You made it home safely,” he says, tucking me against his chest. “My God, you gave us a scare.” I close my eyes, and for one brief moment, let myself feel his embrace. Smell the scent I’m so familiar with I could pick it out in a line up, bourbon and cigar smoke and a hint of cologne. I cling to an innocence I have to give up.

If he did what Constantine said he did …

I draw in a breath and release it slowly. Remind myself of my purpose.

I’m here for a reason. Whether I ever see Constantine again doesn’t matter, not now. What matters is that I find out the truth.