He’s devastating. Dangerous. Mine.
“Who do we hate?” His voice is rough with sleep, eyes sharp despite the early hour.
“My mother. She filed a motion to have me declared mentally incompetent. Wants to invalidate our marriage and seize control of my inheritance.”
His expression goes cold. Lethal. The Wolf waking up. “When?”
“Hearing’s tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Hours before the gala. She’s panicking. Knows we’re coming for her and Matthew. This is her last play—discredit me before I can use the evidence against them.”
“She’s underestimating you. Again.”
“She keeps doing that.” My hands slide up his abs, feeling muscle shift under olive skin. “You’d think she’d learn.”
“Some people never do. What’s your play?”
“Mutually assured destruction. I have the recording of her confessing to the affair and conspiracy. If she tries to paint me as crazy, I release it to every news outlet in Manhattan. Her reputation burns, Matthew goes down, and she spends the rest of her life in prison or social exile.”
“Scorched earth.”
“I need to confront her. Today. Make her understand that backing off is her only option.”
“Not alone.”
“Sergei—”
“Not. Alone. Your mother’s desperate. Desperate people do stupid, violent things. You walk into her townhouse solo, and you might not walk out.”
“She won’t hurt me. I’m her daughter.”
“She conspired to murder her husband. She’s sleeping with the man who tried to kill you multiple times. She’s filing legal motions to destroy your life. You think maternal instinct suddenly kicks in when you threaten to expose her?”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
“Fine. You come with me. But you stay in the car. This conversation needs to be daughter to mother. Woman to woman. She sees you, she’ll use it as evidence I’m being controlled or manipulated.”
“I’ll stay in the car. But if I hear anything that sounds like a threat, I’m coming in. And your mother won’t like what happens next.”
“Deal.”
I drain my now-cold coffee, suddenly energized despite the early hour. “Get dressed. We’re going to the Upper East Side for a family reunion.”
An hour later,we’re parked outside Mother’s townhouse. I’ve been here a thousand times—Christmases, birthdays, awkward dinners, when she criticized everything from my posture to my life choices.
Now I’m here to destroy her.
Sergei’s behind the wheel, eyes tracking every pedestrian, every car, every potential threat. The Glock’s holstered at his hip, barely concealed, and I know he’s got at least two knives hidden somewhere on his body.
My own gun sits heavily in my purse beside Dad’s lighter. I’ve gotten comfortable with the weight, with the knowledge that I can protect myself if necessary.
“Ten minutes,” Sergei says, checking his watch. “If you’re not out in ten, I’m coming in.”
“Twenty. This conversation might take time. Trust me.”
“I do. It’s your mother I don’t trust.”
Fair point.
I exit the car, smoothing my black pencil skirt and silk blouse. Armor disguised as business casual. The door opens before I can knock—Charles, the family’s butler.
