"It took long enough," Andrey says, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp. "Why don't you tell us what really happened? From the beginning."
Yegor leans back in his chair, his hands folding on the table in front of him. "I first found out about what the families were planning about five years before the massacre. Bogdan Belyaev, of all people, reached out to me in Russia."
My stomach drops at the name. Sophia's father. The man who disowned his own daughter.
"He wanted to gauge my response," my father continues. "See if I'd be interested in joining their plan to consolidate power. I played along and acted interested just to get information. I had no idea they were planning something as brutal asthe massacre, though. I thought they were just talking about political maneuvering, maybe some strategic eliminations."
Andrey's jaw tightens. "But they weren't."
"No." My father's expression darkens. "When I realized what they were actually planning, I knew I had to do something. But I couldn't go to the Bratva leadership because I didn't know who was involved and who wasn't. So I went to the FBI."
"You became an informant," Matvey says, his voice flat.
"Yes." My father doesn't flinch from the accusation in Matvey's tone. "I started gathering evidence and documenting everything I could find. The safehouses, political connections, the financial networks. I hid it all in the icons because I knew if the families found out what I was doing, they'd kill me and destroy the evidence."
I reach across the table and take his hand. "That's why you testified. Not because you were a traitor, but because you were trying to stop them."
"I testified against the families I had solid evidence on," he confirms. "But there were others involved that I couldn't prove. Families with connections so deep that exposing them would have gotten me killed before I could even make it to court."
Andrey leans forward, his blue eyes intense. "And the heirlooms? My family's icons?"
My father meets his gaze without flinching. "I never stole them. Bogdan did. He took them during the massacre and hid them in that crypt, probably planning to eventually sell them. I found out about it later, when I was gathering evidence, but I couldn't retrieve them without exposing myself."
"So you left clues," I say quietly. "Leading us to the truth."
"I left clues leading you to everything." His hand tightens around mine. "The massacre, the conspiracy, the families involved, and yes, the location of the stolen heirlooms. I knew if anything happened to me, you'd need that information to protect yourself."
The room falls silent except for the crackle of the fireplace. I stare at my father, seeing him differently now. Not as the man who abandoned me, but as someone who sacrificed everything to expose the truth.
"Why didn't you contact me sooner?" The question comes out quieter than I intend. "Nine years, Papa. Nine years of silence."
His expression crumbles. "Because they were watching. Waiting for me to make contact so they could find you. I couldn't risk it, Mariya. Not until I knew you were safe."
"She's safe now," Andrey says firmly. "She's my wife. Anyone who touches her answers to me."
My father's gaze shifts to Andrey, assessing. "You love her."
"Yes."
The simple certainty in Andrey's voice makes my chest warm despite everything. My father studies him for a long moment, then nods slowly.
"Good. She deserves that."
That evening, we have dinner in the formal dining room. The table is set with fine China and crystal glasses, the kind of meal that feels celebratory despite the weight of everything we'vediscussed. Sophia joins us, her expression cautious as she takes in my father's presence.
I can't stop staring at him. Every time I look away, I have to look back, just to confirm he's really here. That this isn't some dream I'll wake up from.
We talk about safer things during dinner. The baby, mostly. My father wants to know everything. When I'm due, if we've picked a name, and what the nursery looks like. His enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself smiling more than I have in weeks.
"I want to be part of his or her life," he says quietly, his gaze dropping to my belly. "Once everything is settled, I want to be a constant presence. A real grandfather."
"You will be," I promise, my hand covering his on the table.
Andrey sets down his wine glass, his expression serious. "Everything will be settled in two days. The plan is in motion."
52
ANDREY
