Page 110 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

“Is right here.”

My father emerges from his study, a fine mist of dirty-brown smoke from his stogie clinging to his immaculate black suit. It is the aroma that I have always associated with my father. His hair is gray but still thick. His face is craggier than it used to be, the grooves on his forehead like ruts on an unmade road, but he is still a handsome and imposing man.

I incline my head in his direction. “Father.”

They did not demand my presence at dinner for my pleasant company. Invitations to the Ivanov home are extended solely at the head of the family’s discretion, and usually when he has a demand or a warning to deliver.

He leads the way to the dining room where the table is set for four. My siblings are either not invited, or they have made their excuses to be elsewhere tonight because they know what this is all about.

Crystal bowls filled with ice contain tiny dishes of caviar, fish roe, and chopped egg yolk; a silver platter is filled with various types of homemade bread sliced into perfect miniature triangles. Valentina, my parents’ maid, fills our glasses with water, and my father dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

Tamara dutifully keeps her head down. My father is the first to help himself to food; once he has filled his plate, the rest of us are free to eat. I’ve lost my appetite, but I spoon caviar onto my plate and take some sourdough bread from the platter before filling a smaller glass with ice-cold vodka.

My father chews slowly and swallows. It is a habit that he has carried with him since he took over as Pakhan from his own father, this unhurried enjoyment of food as if every morsel might be his last. I scoop caviar onto the toasted bread, stuff the whole lot into my mouth, and swallow without tasting it. I am a busy man, and I have no time for unnecessary foreplay.

He washes his food down with neat vodka and sits back in his seat. I can feel his anger emanating like molten lava from his pores. “Talk to me, Leonid.”

Tamara continues to chew her food, but her hackles are up like a cat sensing the approach of a ferocious dog. She wouldn’t dare to disrespect me or my father, but she and Ivana have spent their entire lives in fight-or-flight mode. It’s a tough habit to crack.

“We lost more men today.” I refill my vodka glass and study the clear liquid. I can feel the burn before I raise it to my lips. “So, I am doing what I do best: I am ensuring that I am the winner in this war against the Sicilians.”

My father’s expression is neutral. His movements when he raises his eyes from his vodka glass to me are slow and purposeful. “By abducting the youngest Sedric daughter.” He blinks slowly like a lizard basking in the sun. “Did you or did you not just say that we are at war with the Sicilians?”

“Correct, father.”

“So, please explain to me what the fuck you are doing.” His tone is neutral too, low and measured leaving the emphasis on his words.

“She is Sedric’s printzessa.” I match his tone. “She is also Xander’s sister-in-law. Melissa will do whatever it takes to protect her baby sister from the way of life they were born into, and what Melissa wants, Melissa gets. Or so I’ve heard.”

My father processes this information. “The plan?”

“The plan is to make sure that I deliver baby Sedric to her brother-in-law, shall we say a little more tainted than she was when she arrived.”

My mother gasps out loud. Tamara suppresses a smirk that no one else notices.

“Tainted?” My father grips his glass so tightly I wait for it to crack. “Fucking tainted? This is your plan to win the war?”

“She is a bargaining tool. Leverage. No more than that. She is pledged to the Irish contingent. A potential ally against the Sicilians if I choose not to corrupt her completely.”

“Leonid.” My mother releases a sigh and rubs her left temple the way she always does when she is trying to resolve a minor problem in her head. “We did not raise you to be the kind of man who corrupts innocent women.”

“What kind of man did you raise me to be?” I swallow at the look of disappointment that flashes into her eyes.

“A leader,” my father interjects before my mother can respond. “A fighter. A pakhan worthy of the family name. Not a lowlife who bargains with little girls.”

It’s a low blow, and Tamara instantly bristles. I can’t see her hands beneath the table, but I instinctively know that they are balled into fists. She and Ivana were little girls when I saved them from a way of life that would’ve seen them dead before they were thirty, and I would rather slit my own throat than barter with their lives.

I wipe my lips with a crisp white napkin. “Is that all, father?”

He motions for me to remain seated. “What do you intend to do with this printzessa once you are finished with her?”

“I will return her to where she belongs, naturally. Once she has served her purpose.”

“This isn’t a game, Leonid.” He narrows his dark eyes at me. “I trust you have thought about the consequences of your actions.”

“No, this isn’t a game. This is war. Didn’t you teach me never to turn a blind eye to an angry poke? I know what I am doing, father. My eyes are wide open, and if the way to checkmate is by taking the opposition’s printzessa, then that’s what I intend to do.”

“Checkmate, printzessa, eyes wide open…” My father waves a finger in the air in a circular motion. “You say that it is war, and then you talk about games.” His accent is more prominent when he is angry. “You put all of us in danger to soothe your pride.”