“I’m sorry, Grandfather.”
“You’re never sorry. What ill wave washed you to your father’s doorstep and not mine?”
Damn it. He knew. He was supposed to be retired and blissfully enjoying life outside of the family drama. “I married.”
My grandfather made a harsh noise, one that told me he didn’t like this change. I’d need to tread lightly.
“I would ask to introduce her to you.”
His silence wasn’t comforting. “The timing for your introduction is dire, I assume?”
It was. By now, the seasoned professionals in my circle would know I’d escaped the U.S. and landed here. And I was certain my father contacted Dianora’s agents to press for another negotiation. Meanwhile, if Grandfather kept that close of an eye on the business, he’d expect me to come to him.
“Yes.”
“I will leave today. Loppa will arrange a flight. It will spare you the stormy seas and winding roads. Both are filled with too many potholes and assassins.” His tone was too abrupt to argue with.
“Be careful. They’ll be watching the airports. The contract is twelve million as of last night. No one around me is safe.”
He laughed. “My grandson, are you trying to compete with me? When I kidnapped your grandmother, the price was fourteen. And that was without inflation. Twelve. Ha!” With that, the line went dead.
I smiled at the memory of my grandmother. Both her and my mother were vibrant women, with a light inside that rarely dulled. Grandfather guarded them greedily and gave each a ring bearing his family crest. My grandmother was buried with hers.
The empty place on my pinky itched. I’d given my mother’s ring to Allie. Right or wrong, I’d have to answer for that.
Firenze, Loppa’s daytime replacement, knocked on the open door. “Your father wants to see you.”
Of course he did. I joined him in his library. The small windows set deep in the wall barely revealed open sky. The meager light inside matched the overcast that had swept in overnight. I sat, not waiting for an invitation.
I shouldn’t require one.
He steepled his fingers, assessing my weaknesses. “Where is your bride?”
“I left her with the fashion stylist.”
Something calculating moved in the reflections in his eyes. “How much money are you planning to waste on that woman?”
“Not nearly as much as your choice would have cost me.”
He frowned. “You found a peasant to replace the heir to one of the oldest families in Europe.”
A soft tsk escaped my lips. I expected a dressing down, not direct insults. “Did you skip the background check on my wife?”
My father’s face tightened. “Her ancestry doesn’t change anything. American legacies are meaningless.” His hand waved the thought away as if it were a pesky insect.
Careful, Father, your prejudice is showing. “And the old money in Europe is bound to too many headaches.”
“Old money is safe. Non-volatile, and real.” He pulled a page out of the stack of documents in front of him. “Four creditors, including your betrothed, have filed claims to your bride’s wealth.”
“Only four?” I would have thought the number higher.
“One is the U.S. Government. That should be enough to pauper her and her posterity for at least five generations.”
This was about him, and his insecurities, not me or Allie. “How much do you owe Don Conti?”
My father stood up abruptly. “You do not talk to me like that!”
Right. God forbid anyone finds out a criminal family is connected to the Minister of Trade. Would it be a surprise to anyone? He married my mother for those connections. He was attempting to marry me off for more connections.
