Page 90 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

His eyes sharpen almost imperceptibly. He sits behind his desk. “Is Aleksander keeping you awake?”

I let one eyebrow lift. “That might be asking for details you don’t really want to know, Father.”

“You are my daughter.”

“Exactly.”

Papa leans back. For the first time, I see him reassessing the room. Good. Let him.

“I ask because adjustment can be difficult,” he says. “The Sokolovs are not an easy family to marry into.”

“You would know. You selected them.”

Papa’s mouth performs the shape of a smile.

“Your husband allows this tone?”

I let the silence stretch long enough to make answering feel like a choice rather than a reflex. Finally, I say, “He doesn’t confuse my tone with his authority.”

Papa’s smile thins. I see the moment he decides to circle rather than strike.

“How is Aleksander?”

“He works hard.”

“Does he speak to you?”

“When he has something to say.”

“And when he does not?”

“Then he doesn’t.”

Papa folds his hands on the desk and sighs impatiently. “This marriage was not arranged for your amusement.”

“That’s correct. It was arranged for yours.”

His fingers tap once against the desk. Only once.

When I was a child, that sound meant stop.

I do not stop.

“It has consequences,” he says. “For both families.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you? A wife in your position can stabilize a household. Or unsettle it.”

“And now you want to know whether we sleep in the same bed and whether he talks to me.”

Papa’s expression cools.

“I am concerned about predictability.”

“At least that sounds like you.”

“Do not be crude, Tamara.”