"Papa—"
"Don't." His voice sharpens despite his weakness. "I'm dying, Dmitri. I don't have time for your usual deflection."
"Marriage isn't exactly my area of expertise."
"Expertise can be learned."
"I've tried." The words come out harsher than intended. "Remember Katya?"
His expression sours. "That vapid creature your mother liked? She lasted three weeks."
Three weeks of forced smiles and empty conversation. The woman giggled at nothing and complained about everything. Three weeks of wanting to put my fist through a wall every time she opened her mouth.
I'd ended it before I did something I couldn't take back.
"She was... incompatible."
"She was an idiot," my father says bluntly. "But she wasn't the only option."
"They're all the same." I lean back in the chair. "Simpering. Calculating. Looking at me and seeing the Bratva heir, not a man."
"Does it matter what they see, as long as they perform their function?"
"It matters to me."
The admission surprises us both. I'm not a man who discusses feelings. Neither is he. We speak in actions, in loyalty, in blood.
My father studies me for a long moment. "There's someone."
It's not a question.
"No."
"Dmitri." He says my name like a warning. "I taught you to lie better than that."
Vittoria's face flashes through my mind. Dark eyes. That fucking mouth. The way she'd kissed me back before her conscience caught up.
"There's no one."
"The Sartori girl."
My jaw clenches. "What about her?"
"I'm dying, not blind." He coughs, and I reach for the water on his nightstand. He waves me off. "You've mentioned their security system three times this week. You never mention anything three times."
"It's a good system."
"I'm sure it is." His eyes gleam with something that might be amusement. "An alliance with the Sartoris would strengthen our position. Their territory complements ours. Their legitimate businesses provide excellent cover."
"This isn't about strategy."
"Everything is about strategy." He reaches out and grips my wrist. His fingers feel like paper over bone, but his grip is still strong. "Find a wife. Soon. I want to see you married before I die."
The words land like bullets.
"Promise me."
I look at my father—this man who raised me, trained me, made me into the weapon I am today. He's never asked me for anything. He's ordered, demanded, commanded. But never asked.
