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“I don’t see why not.”
The audacity of this twat. He’s shameless and wears it like a badge of honor.
“Do you know who we are, son?” I say in my serious tone.
Mia catches the change in my demeanor and her face bleaches, chasing away any remnants of the earlier blushing.
Landon, however, seems perfectly content with his ride on the expressway to hell, because he says. “Naturally.”
“So you realize we’re the Russian mafia and you still aren’t scared for your life?”
“Why would I be when I haven’t done anything? Besides, you just called me son, so I take that as you welcoming me into the family.”
“You wish.”
“I don’t do wishes, Mr. Hunter. I make things happen.”
I narrow my eyes on him and he stares me dead in the face, unblinking, openly challenging me in my own fucking house.
“Dad,” my daughter signs, dread written all over her soft face. “Please.”
“It’s all right, Mia,” Landon says. “I was fully prepared for this level of hostility and would’ve been disappointed if there was anything less, to be honest. But how about we get past this stage? Since you’re acquainted with Grandpa, I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”
“And if we can’t?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ll keep trying until we do.”
“Even if it takes years?”
“Or decades. I can be both persistent and persuasive.”
“Neither of those traits works on me.”
“I’ll find something that will.”
“Highly doubtful.”
Mia stands up, remains silent for an awkward pause, then signs, “I’m going to see if Mom and Maya need help.”
She shares a look with Landon that only the two of them seem to be able to decipher the meaning of before she reluctantly leaves.
Good. Now would be a good time to abduct the bastard and execute my construction site plan.
“Where were we?” Landon asks. “Right, me trying to win you over. I’m confident we can figure something out. At least you’re not as animalistically violent as your son.”
“Who do you think is his father? And drop the act now that it’s the both of us.”
“Act?” He searches his surroundings as if looking for a third presence before focusing back on me. “What act?”
“The doting boyfriend act. That doesn’t fly with me.”
“I’m not acting, since I am, in fact, attempting to be a doting boyfriend.”
“How is that working out for you?”
“Judging by your murderous expression, I’d guess not so good.”
“You guessed correctly.” I lean forward in my chair. “I know your type, Landon, or rather, I’vecrushedyour type countless times before.”
