No. This can’t be.
“You’re lying.” A dizzy wave rolls through me, tilting the room for a split second. “That’s not possible. My mother… She doesn’t… She never said?—”
“That she’s a Scutari?” He tilts his head like I’ve just said something amusing. “Of course she didn’t. She has been running away from her obligations her entire life.”
My mother is…Mafia?
Oh God. I can’t make sense of this.
He sits back in the chair, completely at ease, while my world cracks open like glass.
“Tony and Angelica thought they could hide you. Change their last names. Pretend the past was dead and buried. But nothing stays buried, Fiona. Not forever.”
The bile rises in my throat.
Change their last names? My dad isn’t a Clark? My mother isn’t Ricci?
“But don’t worry. I have a solution,” he continues. “A way to make all our problems go away.”
I barely hear him anymore. My ears are ringing, my fingers shaking against my thighs.
All I can think isgranddaughter.
My parents lied to me for my entire life.
His smile widens, warm in a way that makes my skin crawl. “You must fix what your mother broke. You must unite the Volkovs and our family.”
The Volkovs. I fucking knew it…
“That is the only way we erase the shame your mother left behind when she ran.”
If this man thinks I’m going to marry anyone, he must be delusional.
“I’m already married. And as I’m sure you know…he tends to be a little possessive.”
He scoffs. “Do not worry about him or that family. I have plans for all of them. There will be none of the Marinovs left to worry about soon.”
A violent rage tears through me. He actually thinks he can talk about Aleksei, about Emilia, abouthis family, as if they’re nothing? He thinks he can threaten the people I love and we’ll just bow our heads and accept it?
He has no idea what he’s invited. And God, I hope Aleksei finds him soon and makes him pay for every word.
One of the masked men steps forward, holding out a phone. “A call for you.”
The old man looks at the screen and rises, brushing imaginary dust from his slacks.
“Excuse me, my dear,” he says before leaving the room without another word, two of the masked men following him out.
The door slams shut behind him, and suddenly it’s just me and one masked guard. He’s facing away from me, pacing slowly up ahead, talking in Russian to someone on the phone.
Glancing around, I spot a crowbar near the crate stacked inches behind me. My eyes lock on to it.
They didn’t tie me up. Maybe they thought I wouldn’t try anything, but they definitely underestimated my desire to get the hell out of here.
I shift my weight carefully, testing the ground beneath my feet and calculating the distance. I draw one shallow breath, then another, and then I lunge. My fingers wrap around the crowbar, cold metal biting into my skin as I rush behind the guard and swing it with everything I have. He turns just as I do.
A sickening crack splits the silence as it hits the back of his head. He stumbles forward, then drops like a stone, blood spilling beneath him in a widening pool.
I don’t give myself time to panic. There’s a gun holstered at his hip, and I fumble with the strap until it gives. It’s heavier than I expect, but I don’t let go even as the pistol shakes in my grip.
