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I took the opportunity to slip out of my high heels as Father’s gaze darted over to me, and his hands tightened around the wheels, his knuckles bleeding white as he surged halfway across the room. Maxim’s face was blank, but when I cast him a look, there was something in his eyes... something that put me even more on edge. Which, truly, shouldn’t have been possible.
The tip of the pyramid dug ever deeper into my palm, until I could feel the blood soaking through the fabric of the bandages that covered my wounds. Nerves had me whispering, “Good evening, Father.” I felt like a coward for shrinking in on myself, for my shoulders hunching, as the desire to disappear into the damn wallpaper overcame me.
I’d spent a lifetime trying to hide, but it never worked out. Unless I was with someone like him. Someone dark and dangerous. Someone more powerful than the Bratva Pakhan. Only then would I ever be safe from the monster who had sired me.
His nostrils flared as he maneuvered around the furniture like it was a NASCAR racetrack, and when he finally reached me, it hit me then.
He was in a wheelchair.
He was injured.
He couldn’t walk.
After that display, I had a feeling he was badly in need of glasses, just too prideful to wear them, and I was still terrified of him.
I could run away, just dart out of the room, but Maxim was here. And Victoria wasn’t. She’d made no mention of going for a sleepover earlier, which was something she would have shared with me if this wasn’t impromptu.
That indicated what was going to happen.
Father was going to beat me. Or maybe Maxim was if Father couldn’t manage it.
I could run, but Maxim would catch me. Would bring me back.
And like always, as was my new normal now, Svetlana would cheer on from the sidelines like the demented harpy she was.
Hatred surged inside me like lava bubbling in the pit of a volcano.
The desire to make him scared, to make him hurt, to terrorize him, to make them all scared was so overwhelming that it made my cheeks flush with color when, seconds earlier, I knew I’d paled.
The Irish were worse than the Bratva.
They were smarter, more devious. They ruled with iron fists but diversified. They had power in unusual places, where we scurried about in the shadows, they were New York’s darlings. Not necessarily the older O’Donnelly, but the sons for sure.
Aidan Jr. and Brennan were considered eligible bachelors in need of snatching up by Park Avenue Princesses, and the A-listers who had attended Inessa and Eoghan’s wedding hadn’t been there for the Vasovs—but for the O’Donnellys.
That was power.
That was protection.
And it was within my grasp. Within my reach. I wasn’t about to let anything get in my way.
As he slid toward me, his wheelchair making him faster even as it was harder for him to maneuver through the many pieces of adult Barbie furniture, most of which he collided with, I sucked in a sharp breath, curling my feet into the rug as I murmured, “Is something wrong?”
“Why were you talking to that O’Donnelly cunt today?”
So, the bribe hadn’t been enough to keep my guard quiet.
I should have known.
Inside, I squirmed, but outwardly, I presented as calm a facade as I was able and rasped, “You mean Brennan? He uses the same stables as me.”
Svetlana snorted. “A likely story.” She surged to her feet, smoothing down her dress that was more like a napkin, and murmured, “I’m bored. And hungry. Your heir wants dinner.”
Gaze whipping around to face her, I caught her just in time for her to pat her stomach. The smugness in her smile made sense now.
I’d already been useless to my father if I wasn’t going to marry his Sovietnik and tighten his links with his Two Spies—his generals—but now Svetlana was breeding, and if she gave him a son, then my already precarious situation was a thousand times worse.
And that was nothing to Victoria’s position in this family.
