Joe listens for a moment, his expression shifting.A flush creeps up his neck, staining his cheeks with color.Whatever the Pakhan is saying, it’s not pleasant.My brother’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath the neatly trimmed beard that shadows his face.
“Understood,” he says finally, then settles the cellphone down on the polished desktop with more force than necessary.
I frown, studying his expression.“Problems with the Bratva?”
Joe shakes his head, his easy smile returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.“Not at all.Nikolai’s father has been doing his own investigations on his brother.”Joe’s stare pins me down, sharp and assessing.“Family affairs getting in the way of business, you know?”He pauses, and something in his expression makes my blood run cold.“Treason is so much more painful when dealt by someone you love.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning.Does he know?Has he figured out what I’ve been doing, what I’ve discovered about our father?
I open my mouth to ask Joe if he knows about our father’s dirty dealings.The question burns on my tongue, desperate to escape.But then I remember my conversation with Shelby, his warning about moving too fast, about alerting the wrong people.I shut my mouth again, the words tear me like broken glass as I swallow them.
“You can say that again,” I state.
“Speaking of family,” Joe continues, settling into his chair with fluid grace, “how’s married life treating you?”
I welcome the sudden change of subject.“It’s...good.Better than good, actually.”
“Shelby’s a solid man.”Joe’s expression softens slightly.“I was mad when the two of you ran off to Vegas.But, for years, I’ve noticed the way you look at each other.”He shakes his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips.“Some things can’t be planned; they just happen.”
Before I can respond, the office door swings open without warning.Our father strides in, commanding attention and exuding authority as he always does.Giovanni DiLorenzo, at sixty-three, is still an imposing figure.Today, he’s wearing a black Armani suit, with a silk tie in deep burgundy.
“Serena!”His face lights up with genuine pleasure, and he crosses the room to pull me into a warm embrace.“Tesoro mio, I didn’t know you were coming to the office today.”
The warmth in his voice completely throws me.This is the father of my childhood, the one who called me his treasure, who taught me to ride a bicycle, who held me when I cried over scraped knees and broken friendships.
How can this be the same man who trades in human lives?
“Dad,” I manage, returning his embrace even as my skin crawls.“I’m here to go over the final details for tomorrow’s gala with Joe.”
“Ah, yes.The fundraiser.”He releases me and steps back, beaming with what looks like genuine pride.“My brilliant daughter, organizing events for the Hearts of Stone Syndicate’s charities.Your mother would be so proud.”
The mention of my mother feels like a knife between my ribs.Did he think about her when he was building his trafficking empire?Did he ever feel guilt or shame?
“How’s Shelby treating you?”my father asks, settling into the chair beside mine with the ease of a man who’s comfortable everywhere.
“He treats me well,” I say carefully.
“Good, good.”My father reaches over and squeezes my hand, his grip warm and familiar.“You deserve happiness,tesoro.I realize now that I was wrong to push you toward that marriage with Cesare.A father wants what’s best for his children, but sometimes we get blinded by strategy and forget what really matters.”
I stare at him, searching for any sign of deception, any hint that this warmth is calculated.But I see only a father who loves his daughter.
“I should let you two get to work,” he says, rising from the chair with grace.“Serena, dinner this weekend?Just the family.Isabella has been asking about you.”
“I’d like that,” I hear myself say, and part of me means it.
He kisses my forehead, squeezes Joe’s shoulder, and sweeps out of the office as abruptly as he entered, leaving the scent of his cologne and a thousand unanswered questions in his wake.
Joe watches me, an unreadable expression on his face.“You okay?You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.“Just tired.The gala preparations have been intense.”
He nods, accepting the excuse, and pulls a tablet from his desk drawer.“Speaking of which, let’s go through the final arrangements.The caterers confirmed this morning, and security protocols are in place...”
His words wash over me, but my mind is elsewhere.Trapped in the contradiction of a father who speaks of love while trafficking in human misery.A man who named his company after the place where he proposed to my mother, then built it on the backs of victims whose names appear in spreadsheets like inventory.
What if I’m wrong?
The thought hits me like a wave, stealing my breath.What if there’s an explanation I haven’t considered?What if the documents mean something different than what I assumed?Maybe my father, for all his flaws, isn’t the monster I’ve been building in my mind?
