I watch my father consider the words. There is no mention of anything so emotional as feelings. No mention of the violation I felt as his hand slid up my skin with every intention of touching my most intimate parts.
In this room, there is only space for politics. Feelings do not matter.
“It made us look disjointed,” he counters. “Something we cannot afford. The Cosa Nostra is fractured enough. Our enemies are no longer only on the outside.”
“It showed that we will take action against any threat. No matter where it originates,” I counter, my voice firm. “We do not bend to the whims of others. My priority is the Corvo name, and I will not allow us to show weakness. Toanyone. Ally or not.”
My voice remains even, my face showing none of the turbulence flipping my stomach inside out.
“His hand will never be the same again.” My father reaches for his coffee, sipping. “He was not happy.”
“Neither was I,” I respond quietly. “And yet you make no mention of that.”
I cannot stop it, the brief admonishment. A verbal acknowledgement that I see his response, and I find it lacking.
He sighs. “Caterina. We have had many discussions over the years. You are the first female heir. That comes with a set of challenges I have never had to face. You have assured me at every turn that this would never be a problem. And yet, here we are.”
The heat suffuses my cheeks. “It is not aproblem,” I force out. “I responded to a threat. If Asante had attacked you physically, you would have responded in a similar vein. And presuming Asante takes my warning for the truth it is, it will never be a problem again.”
“And what about the next man?” he asks directly. “It will be a problem then, no?”
Realization hits.
There is nothing I can say to him. He will twist my words, throw them back at me, use last night to make me look like a hysterical fuckingfemale.
“You are not looking for answers,” I say quietly. “Nothing I can say will make a difference here. You’re searching for an excuse. Why?”
I see the admission on his face, even as he tries to twist it back on me. “I am simply trying to establish how you plan to proceed, Caterina. This may be the first time, but I doubt it will be the last. Will you stab every man in the hand?”
“Not every man is a would-be rapist,” I say coldly. “Although we do seem to have an additional stock of them at the moment. HowisMatteo?”
“We are not talking about Matteo. We are talking about you.”
“How long do you intend to punish me?”
My abrupt switch sees him flounder, his eyes flickering. “I don’t understand.”
Leaning forward, I look into his eyes. “You taught me these games, Joseph. Let us not waste either of our time on them. You are punishing me for what happened. What’s done is done. That part of my life isover. It has no bearing on last night.”
He only looks at me. “I’m not punishing you.”
The laugh is a sharp one, disbelieving. “Tell me. Am I still the Corvo heir?”
Silence. An enduring, deep emptiness that sends an icy blade into my stomach.
Finally, he speaks. “I am not punishing you, Caterina. That you believe I am tells me that despite all of your training, all of the effort I have invested in you, you are still not ready. You ask if you are still the Corvo heir? Yes. For now. But I will not allow weakness into our ranks. And that is all I am seeing. Distraction after distraction, all of it taking away from what we need to be focusing on. Growth. Strength. This is what is important. Not these damn petty squabbles.”
The lecturing tone of his words grates on me. Gritting my teeth, I force my head to nod slowly. “I quite agree. As I said, what’s done is done. Last night was unfortunate.”
“Not just because of Asante. Our traditions are important. You spoke out of turn.”
I settle back in my chair, confident in my response. “Because there was no need to torture an already broken man. A waste of everyone’s time and energy. Where is the strength in that? Letthe Fusco boy pick up the slack. It may distract him from… other thoughts.”
My father acknowledges the truth in my words with a wave of his hand. “Perhaps. And yetil bacio della mortesits upon your head, and I see you taking no action to address it. How many attempts have you seen?”
“Only three. None of them successful.”
“That is beyond the point,” he snaps. “Threenow. It’s been a bare handful of days. In the weeks, months,yearsto come, they will only grow. Fusco is playing the long game with nothing to lose, or so he thinks. He knows that eventually you will get tired.
