Good. Very good.
My father’s eyes narrow.
Galina, a few feet away in her own conversation, hears enough to stop speaking.
People nearby pretend not to listen and fail badly.
I lean closer to my father. “Careful, old man. Your house has already lost one bride. Do not embarrass yourself by trying to insult mine.”
His expression hardens. For a second, I see the man who ruled by fear for decades.
Then I see the other thing too. The man realizing fear is no longer enough.
“You think a wedding makes you powerful?” he asks quietly.
“No. Power made the wedding possible.”
His jaw tightens.
Anya’s fingers press against my sleeve. Not stopping me. Just there.
My father notices that too. “You’ve been busy,” he says. “My port men. My transport routes. My collectors. Even men who ate at my table now answer your calls.”
“They answer mine because I pay them on time.”
“They answer yours because you threaten their families.”
“I threaten fewer families than you did.”
His eyes go cold.
There. A hit.
“You are moving recklessly,” he says.
“You are moving too slowly.”
“This city was mine before you knew how to hold a gun.”
“And now it is learning new habits.”
A few men nearby shift uneasily. They know better than to come close. They know better than to appear too interested. But they hear enough.
Good. Let them.
My father lowers his voice. “Do not mistake borrowed loyalty for empire.”
“I don’t borrow.”
“No,” he says, glancing at Anya again. “You take.”
I smile faintly. “You taught me.”
For the first time, his control slips.
Only slightly.
Only in the eyes.
