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He hisses, “You gave us your word. You signed a contract with my father. Then you shot him in the face and put seven bullets in my back that were aimed at my wife. If your people had their way, Sabrina wouldn’t exist.”
I can’t deny the betrayal of the blood oath, a crime even the Bratva blush to remember. Alexei Yenin signed his print in blood, then launched a massacre at the wedding of his own daughter and Sebastian Gallo.
All I can say in defense is, “That wasn’t me, and that wasn’t my family.”
“No?” Nero sneers. “Then show me your shoulders.”
I don’t hesitate. I wrench down the shoulder of my shirt, baring nothing but flesh.
Instead, I point at the wolf on my arm. “I wear my own brand. Mine and no other. I have no quarrel with the Gallos.” With a flash of teeth, I add, ”I’d like to keep it that way.”
I won’t be intimidated by Nero.
He looks at the wolf, rapid thought flickering behind those dark eyes. He resembles his daughter so strongly that I feel the strangest mix of connection and confusion. Nero stole the diamond—I want to steal the thing most precious to him.
“I would never hurt Sabrina,” I tell him. “I’d do anything to keep her safe.”
“Anything? I’m sure you think so …”
The speedometer is up to 120. We’re racing down a dark road meant for less than half that speed. Each curve presents us with a sheer rock face, rushing toward us at sickening pace.
Eyes as black as that stone, Nero says, “I would drive us into a wall this moment before I would risk you hurting her.”
I don’t think he’s bluffing. Like father, like daughter—Nero will take this way past the line. He’ll risk anything to extort a promise from me.
I won’t be robbed—not of Sabrina, and not of my word. He’ll have to pry her from my cold dead hands.
My voice is as steady as his. “I’m not the one taking your daughter from you. Sabrina won’t be caged. She’ll bite her own arm off before she’ll let either of us tell her what to do.”
I see him flinch—just a twitch of his thumb on the wheel, but the clear sign that my arrow hit home.
Slowly, incrementally, the speedometer sinks. We’re still flying down the road, but no longer hurtling to our deaths.
Nero’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, his final threat spoken more to himself than to me: “We’ll see about that.”
* * *
17
SABRINA
The hour in which my father has Adrik prisoner in his car is one of the most stressful of my life. I hate that I let them drive off together. If I wasn’t afraid of making a scene a hundred yards from the Petrov house, I never would have allowed it.
When the Hellcat’s headlights finally sweep across my car, I’m relieved to see that both Adrik and my dad are still in the front seats, alive and unbloodied.
Adrik may be a little more pale and somber than he was before. My father looks the same as always.
I jump out of the Mustang, half fury and half relief.
“Why didn’t you just call me?” I demand of my dad.
“I find face-to-face conversation more honest.”
I deserved that little slap. He knows I’ve been lying to him for months.
Equally, I know there’s no point trying to avoid the tête-à-tête he drove all the way here to have. He took his shots at Adrik—now it’s my turn.
“I’ll meet you back at the house,” I say to Adrik.
