“Dante.” I press back. “What do you want? Why are you here?”
He straightens up, putting a little more space between us.
“Your husband needs to understand the truce he brokered with Vicente does not mean our family is dead. He may have killed your brothers, but we still have power here.”
“I don’t want anything to do with any of that.”
“I don’t really give a fuck what you want.” He gnashes his teeth. “You’ll do what you’re told to do, or you can kiss that little boy goodbye.”
My heart skids right into my lungs. “Leave him out of this. Stay away from him.”
“Then you’ll do what I tell you to do.” He rakes his gaze over me again. “And fucking remember what family you belong to.”
“What do you want from me?” My fingernails dig into my palms. It’s taking everything in me not to scratch them down his face.
“I want to know what him and his brothers are planning. I need to know what they know.”
“He doesn’t tell me things. I’ve only been here less than a week.” I doubt a year would make a difference.
“Then I suggest you start getting him to talk. Spread your fucking whore legs for him and get him to tell you what I need to know.”
“He doesn’t trust me. He hates me because of who I am. He won’t tell me anything.”
He grabs my arm in a death grip and shakes me. “I don’t care what you have to do to get the information, but you find out what I need to know.”
“Dante.” I try to pull away but he only tightens his grip. “There’s a truce between our families, why would you ruin that? Do you want more of our family to die?”
“I wanthisfamily to die.” He jerks me forward, dragging me to a painting hanging over the fireplace.
It’s of the Volkov family. Kaz, his brothers, and a woman I assume is his sister. They’re young, standing in front of a fireplace much like this.
“Do you see them? They think they rule the fucking world because their family is older, their power is older. But we’re stronger.”
“Dante.” I pull again, but he’s not letting go. He shoves me forward again.
“Look at them. And all of this is because of a fucking woman. A fucking whore.” He points at the young girl, she’s maybefifteen in the painting. But they all look so much younger I can’t tell when it was painted.
“Stop it.”
He shoves me forward. I put my hands out to stop myself from hitting the edge of the mantel.
The button Mrs. Popova told me about is there. It’s minuscule and painted to blend in with the dark wood of the mantel. And it’s within finger’s reach.
Dante grabs me again, spinning me around to face him.
“Find out what he knows about our plans and contact me right away. You have one week. After that I’ll visit Tommy. It’s been years since I’ve seen the boy. I assume he’s still deaf and dumb.”
“He’s not dumb.” My voice raises. Only a coward would use a little boy as leverage, and my family seems to be filled with them.
He snorts. “He’s as useless as you. And completely dispensable. Remember that.”
As though the devil has called him home, he spins on his heel and storms out of the living room. I’m still standing at the fireplace, rubbing my arm, when the front door slams.
Tears build, and I squeeze my eyes closed to keep them from falling. Crying has never solved any of my problems.
Taking a deep breath, I decide on my course of action.
“Where are you going?” Sergei asks as I rush to the front closet and grab my coat.
