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“I’m sorry you didn’t trust me.” His tone was even, but I heard an undercurrent of hurt that stunned me. My father had always seemed too cold, too remote, to be hurt by anything I did.
I looked away. I hadn’t considered how Father would feel if he were innocent.
“I’m sorry, too. So fucking sorry.” I met his eyes so he’d see my sincerity. “But I couldn’t take the chance. Not with Gabriel and Rafe’s lives on the line.”
“We didn’t give him a choice,” said Ridley. “If he would’ve refused, he would’ve died in Moreau’s dungeon—or been sold as a blood slave. And after they captured Rafael, they threatened to sell him as a blood slave if Zaq didn’t slay you.”
Father inclined his head. “You made the right choice,” he told me. “If you’d come to me, I would’ve told you to protect them.”
“I pushed Zaq,” Ridley said. Taking all the blame on herself because that’s the kind of woman she was. “He refused to believe you were trying to kill him and his brothers. I don’t know where the story of the coup came from, though. That wasn’t SI.” She paused. “As far as I know, anyway.”
“I see,” Father said.
I turned on the couch so I could see her. “What she’s not saying is everything she did for me. In Paris, she hid me to give me time to recover. She even fed me her own blood when I was out of my mind with silver poisoning. And here in New York, she did everything she could to save me from SI.”
“Is this true?” Father asked her.
She nodded. “If Zaq didn’t stake you, my orders were to stake him. But if he did, not just his life would be saved, SI would call off the attacks on Gabriel and Rafael, too.”
“I see,” he said.
“But when it came down to it,” I added, “she couldn’t stake me. She helped me get away from her alpha.”
Ridley shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable, and changed the subject. “This faulty intel. Was it from Lieutenant Mraz?”
Father gave a heavy sigh. “You know?”
“So it’s the truth?” I asked. “He was working with SI to slay us?”
Father dipped his chin. “He said as much before he went to his final grave. He apparently disagreed with my decision to make you my heirs and prepare Gabriel to rule the syndicate after me. He learned his mistake.”
I shook my head. Tomas had always been there, my father’s friend and advisor. Yeah, he wasn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy guy, but it was hard to wrap my mind around the idea that he’d wanted me and my brothers dead.
“Hopefully,” Father added, “that is the end of this nonsense. The slayers, of course, are another story.”
Ridley’s spine went ramrod straight. Dislike emanated from her. Dislike, and fear.
Father returned her scrutiny with the air of a scientist studying a particularly interesting insect.
I didn’t like knowing Ridley was afraid. She could dislike my dad—Lord knows she wouldn’t be the only one—but I wanted her to feel safe. And I wanted him to accept her.
Before it turned into a staring match, I rose and asked my father if he’d like a glass of wine.
He took his gaze from Ridley to accept. “I would, thank you.”
“I’ll be right back.” I went into the kitchen, Ridley on my heels.
While I opened the bottle, she shifted her blades to one hand, and with the other got three glasses from the cabinet. The whole time she kept a wary eye on my dad, who stared into the unlit fireplace, his profile to us.
“Put those blades away, would you?” I muttered. “This is a negotiation; he wouldn’t be here otherwise. He would’ve sent men to drag us to headquarters.”
She glanced at my dad. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said as I filled the glasses. “He came alone, didn’t he?”
She grunted, but retracted the switchblades and returned them to her pockets.
Back in the living room, Father came to his feet and accepted the glass I held out to him. His eyes warmed.
