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“I’m sorry,” Sabrina says.
“Dynasties can fall in an instant, no matter how powerful they may seem.”
“Your father had it coming,” my dad says, angry after all this time. If my grandfather were here in this room, my father would kill him all over again for how he treated my mother.
“Sabrina’s father is Italian but her mother is Puerto Rican,” I say, to change the subject.
“It’s good to intermarry,” my father says. “Keeps the bloodline strong.”
“Of course you’d say that,” my mother laughs, kissing him lightly on his scarred cheek. “You’re completely biased.”
“Too bad Kade couldn’t come,” Sabrina says.
“Kingmakers is so strict.” My mother scowls. “They should at least let them come home for Christmas. Or you should have,” she shakes a finger at me.
“We were working.”
“I’ve heard about your work.” My father raises an eyebrow at me. “Not exactly what we discussed.”
“I think you know I’m always going to exceed the mandate.”
“Is that what you call what happened with Zakharov? Exceeding the mandate?”
“We’re not here to talk business,” my mother says, laying her hand on his arm.
“I don’t need you checking up on me,” I tell my father, my temper rising.
If I wanted to be under his thumb I would have stayed in St. Petersburg.
Sabrina slips her hand into mine, standing close by me.
“Adrik is doing incredible things here,” she says. “No one’s ever grown a market as fast as him. Every one of his men is brilliant and loyal to the bone. He’ll handle Zakharov like he handles everything else—like the man you taught him to be.”
I look at Sabrina, my throat too tight to speak. She’s meeting my father boldly, her tone respectful, but her words impossible to mistake. She won’t stand anyone criticizing me.
My father is surprised, though not entirely displeased.
“Indeed,” he says. “Adrik has always been a son I could be proud of.”
As my parents move on to congratulate the Markovs, I pull Sabrina tight against my side.
“Remind me not to piss you off.”
“If only youwouldtake that lesson to heart,” she says, sipping her champagne.
“And what about you?” I say. “Queen Shit-Stirrer.”
She smiles. “What fun would it be if I always behaved?”
“I can’t even picture that.”
“You’ll certainly never see it.”
We part shortly afterward, pulled into separate conversations. I shake hands with Simon and his new bride, and give Ilsa Markov a congratulations she accepts with brittle thanks.
The Markovs are popular as well as influential—almost every gangster of note is here to pay their respects.
I see the several of thekachki, including Cujo himself, who watches me impassively from the other side of the room. If he really has been hired by Zakharov to seek revenge on his behalf, it must irk him to stand so close without being able to take action.
