I consider ignoring it, but that will only lead to an unwelcome visit to my office, more phone calls, shitty text messages, and, if he’s really annoyed, some of his men to remind me where I stand in the grand scheme of things.
I answer with a sigh, bringing the phone to my ear with an annoyed, “What?”
“Is that any way to speak to your father?” His voice is gravelly, worn down by years of whiskey and cigars.
There’s no love lost between us, and he’s well aware of how I feel.
“I’m busy.”
“Make time. Your brother is getting out next month.”
The words settle like dead weight in my gut. My grip on the phone tightens, but I keep my voice even. “And?”
“And I’m having a dinner for him.”
“Have fun.”
“Benedikt,” he grinds out, his voice a bit clipped. “Do you need me to spell it out for you?”
I let the silence stretch, letting him feel my disinterest. “I’ll pass.”
“You’ll be there. I don’t have time for your emotions.”
“And I don’t have time to entertain a man who should still be locked up.”
He chuckles humorlessly. “You think you’re untouchable, but you’re still my son. And your brother is finally coming home.”
What he forgets to say is that my brother is also the rightful heir.
It doesn’t matter how much I’ve done for the Bratva in his absence, or how much I’ve built and expanded, or the mess I cleaned up after Nikolai got himself locked up.
None of it means a damn thing to my father.
“Do you have any news for me, Benedikt?”
My nostrils flare as I look out at the ocean. “Such as?”
“You haven’t been taking what I said seriously. Your brother has been locked up for threeyears, and you’re still fucking around.”
“Have you checked your bank account recently? I’ve tripled the Bratva money while your other son has been rotting away, getting bogus tattoos in prison.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing when you still need to prove you deserve what you’ve taken.”
I don’t respond. There’s no point.
“The heir,” my father continues. “Have you made any movement toward giving me an heir? Or anything else of use?”
“And if I have?”
“You haven’t.”
“Then why ask?” I hear him scoff on the other end, but he doesn’t kick back facts. Which means he hasn’t been keeping close tabs on me. “I’m not going to be made a fool of, Father. With this news, I’m not going to lock myself down after years of picking out the perfect woman to give you a grandson. Give me the response I need, and you’ll receive the results you’re after.”
“Then bring this perfect woman to dinner next month, and I’ll let you know if this female is worthy of such a feat.”
“Send me the details, and I’ll see you then.” His hiccup of silence again fuels my stance that I have the upper hand. “She’s allergic to shellfish. Make sure you let your cooks know.”
I have zero clue if that’s true, but I needed something specific to nail down my lie.
