Betraying me.
I exhale sharply, pushing back from the desk and rising to my feet. My shoulders are tight with accumulated tension as I cross to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the back grounds, staring out at the forest beyond where my development plans are supposed to take root and flourish.
I should tell my father.
That’s the logical next step. Present the evidence, let him make the call on how to handle my dear uncle. But another thought creeps in, darker and more paranoid: What if he already knows?
What if this is a test? Some fucked-up trial to see how I handle family betrayal, whether I have the stomach to do what’s necessary when blood is involved? After all, he didn’t tell me about the wine shipment that never arrived...
No.I dismiss the thought almost immediately. My father isn’t like that.
His relationship with Fabian has been shaky ever since my mother’s death, when Fabian blamed him for what happened.They’ve only recently started mending that bridge after Elira’s marriage and Luca’s birth. Maybe he was just giving Fabian the benefit of the doubt, like I’ve been doing.
Stupid. We were both stupid.
I can’t let Fabian’s actions go unchecked, but I need to be careful. The older man is as smart as he is cunning, with a legion of connections built over the years. And despite Long Island technically being a free-for-all territory divided among several factions, he’s managed to make himself the de facto head of the borough. That’s a lot of power—a lot of loyalty he could call on if he ever felt threatened.
What wouldAtëdo?
The question circles in my mind as I stare out at the forest. But whatever the answer, I know I can’t burden him with this yet. Not until I have solid proof. These reports are just Lorik’s findings organized into one file. In a confrontation, it would behis word against Fabian Besharun’s. And even though I trust my investigator with my life—Lorik, Dhimitër, and I grew up together, after all—his word wouldn’t stand a chance against Fabian’s reputation.
So I’m not telling my father anything right now.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t check on him. Just… to see how he’s doing. That’s what a good son does, right?
Right.
I grab my jacket, pulling it on as I stride out of my office.
My mind races ahead, analyzing the best approach to confronting Fabian—if I even should. Making him aware that I’m onto him would most likely put him on guard, force him to be more careful. And once he starts covering his tracks, catching him will be damn near impossible.
No, better to bide my time. Wait until either Lorik or I find something more concrete.
I can be patient.
I turn down the hallway towardsAtë’s office, frowning as a burst of feminine laughter drifts out, followed by my father’s booming laugh. After his health scare, he only uses his office to keep up appearances with the men—though I suspect they already know I’m in charge now—so who could possibly be in there with him?
Easing the door open silently, I position myself to observe without being noticed. My frown deepens into a scowl the moment I spot the distinctive short cap of blonde hair across from him, her back to me.
Of course. Of fucking course it’s her.
I don’t need to see her face to know it’s my littlegënjeshtar.
There’s a chessboard between them.
They’re playing chess. How the hell did she go from fleeing my presence to playing chess with my father?
Atëis still chuckling, tugging on his beard as he watches her make a move on the board. “Come on, is this any way totreat a dying old man?” he asks, his tone playfully manipulative.
Jesus Christ, he’s trying the dying card on her?
She laughs again—a clear, genuine sound that does something uncomfortable to my chest—and runs a hand through her short strands. “You know that doesn’t work on me like it does on the others. We both know even with your high blood pressure you’re as healthy as a horse. So don’t try emotional blackmail.”
My blood goes cold.
She knows about his blood pressure. His health conditions.
Even thoughAtëtakes her teasing good-naturedly—judging by his continued laughter—rage is building in my chest. I don’t like this woman knowing anything about my father. Least of all his vulnerabilities. Not when I know virtually nothing about who she is or why she’s really here in my home.
