Actually laughs.
It's short and humorless, more surprised than amused.
Then his expression hardens. "This is a mafia family, yes. But not Bratva." He takes a step toward me, and something in his dark eyes makes my stomach clench. "For your own good, Kristen, never say that again. Never suggest we're Bratva. Not to anyone. Not even as a joke."
I back away from him.
One step. Two.
My shoulder blades hit the wall behind me and I realize I've cornered myself like prey. Stupid. Stupid.
"You're..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Criminals?" His voice is flat. "Yes."
The word hangs in the air between us. No excuse. No justification. Just... yes.
Oh God.
Oh God.
My daughter is sleeping upstairs. In a bedroom surrounded by wealth I now understand was built on blood and whatever else these people do. Lily bounced on that mattress asking if we'd live in the castle and I let her stay here.
What is wrong with me?
"I'm so stupid." The words slip out before I can stop them. My voice cracks on the last syllable. "I'm so fucking stupid."
"Kristen—"
"No." I hold up a hand, needing distance, needing space, needing to think. "Jack lies to me for years and I believe him. A family offers me three thousand dollars a week to manage a house and I don't ask questions. I just... I needed the money so badly that I didn't see?—"
I stop.
Because that's it, isn't it?
I didn't see because I couldn't afford to see. The job was too good. The health insurance, the transportation, the food Giulia sent home every night. It was everything I needed, wrappedup in a bow, and I grabbed it with both hands because my daughter's heart is held together with stitches and hope and I would do anything to keep her safe.
Even work for criminals, apparently.
"You suspected." Nico's voice is quiet. Not a question.
I look at him and for the first time I notice the way he stands. Weight balanced. Shoulders loose but ready.
He moves like a man who expects violence.
"I thought..." I swallow hard. "I thought maybe the family had painted their hands red. Money laundering. Tax evasion. Something white collar." A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat. "Not... this."
Not mafia.
The word tastes foreign in my mouth. I only know what Bratva means because Jack mentioned it once, drunk.
I should have.
I should have asked questions. Should have pushed.
But I was too busy surviving to see the trap closing around me.
"You need to sit down," Nico says.
