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Dad does a double-take, glancing over my shoulder before dropping into a hissed whisper as if the trees might be eavesdropping. “This is the only chance we’re going to get, Taylor. We have to take it.”
“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on,” I say. “How did you even get past the guards? Why is there blood all over you? And where’s Celine?”
He looks at me silently for long enough that two things strike me at the same time. One is that the first two questions that I asked probably have the same answer. The second is that, all of the sudden, he looks very different from the man who raised me.
That man was scared, trembling, badly shaven, underfed.
This man is alert, aware, watchful. Andcalculated. There’s purpose in his expression and in his stance, and when I glance into the shitty little Honda he’s brought to the party, I realize there’s a gun lying casually on the passenger seat.
“Fucking hell,” I whisper. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Dad shakes his head sadly. “You never used to swear so much.”
“Considering the way this night is going, I think I’m prettyfuckingjustified!”
“We don’t have much time, Taylor.” He rakes his fingers through his thinning hair. They leave behind more blood smeared on his scalp.
“Then talk fast. There were guards at the gate, weren’t there?”
“Yes.”
His voice doesn’t waver, not even for a second. I can only stare at my father in disbelief, wondering if it’s even possible. Wondering if I’ve just been blind this entire time or if maybe living with Ilarion has convinced me that everyone has dark secrets.
“Dad…”
“Sweetheart, it had to be done. They would have set off the alarm, and I had to do what was necessary to get you out of here.”
“Are they dead?”
“Yes.”
I shudder. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink.
“You don’t go from a family man to a cold-blooded murderer in the span of a few hours. So tell me, Dad. Who are you? Who are youreally?”
He grabs my hand. He holds it tight, the way he used to do when I was a toddler and it started thundering outside and I wondered if the world was ending.
“I am yourfather, first and foremost,” he says.
“And?” I loft a brow. “What else?”
He takes a breath. “Up until recently, I was also avorfor the Zakharov Bratva.”
I rip my hand from his. Because as much as the dots are rapidly connecting, I still did not see it coming.
“Are you telling me…thatyouworked for…Ilarion?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a Bratva don.”
“Pakhan, but yes. And before that, his father was thepakhan. He’s the one who recruited me, seventeen years ago.”
Seventeen years ago.I would’ve been three. My father is saying he let go of my hand during that thunderstorm that terrified me so much and went skipping off to join the fucking Russian mob.
I turn my back on him for a moment, scrambling to fill in the blanks. There’s so many that I can’t focus long enough to ask the right questions. “Did Mom know?”
“No,” he says softly. “I didn’t want her to worry.”
