My voice catches. "You have no right to hide him from me."
A corner of his mouth lifts, not quite a smile. "Rights are flexible in this family."
I cross my arms, grounding myself. "You represent him?"
"Yes."
"So he's out of jail?"
"Of course. With stipulations," he adds.
I breathe in through my nose and swallow, forcing the air deeper when it won't settle on its own. "But Uncle Obrecht doesn't know?"
"As of now," he threatens with a smile.
"Do I need to remind you that you work for the Ivanovs?"
"Not at all."
"I'm an Ivanov," I remind him, lifting my chin higher.
"That's correct."
My stomach twists. "Then start acting like it."
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms now, mirroring me without effort. "That's exactly what I'm doing."
I put my hand on my hip. "You don't get to decide who I see. Ivanovs make decisions. You follow their orders. And I'm demanding you tell me where he is."
He chuckles. "Is that how you see it?"
"Yes."
"You're wrong. I get to decide what survives scrutiny," he asserts.
Pain shoots through my heart. I wince and swallow hard. "If you hurt him…"
His eyes sharpen. "I saved his career and freedom. Red's biggest vulnerability isn't evidence or the arrest. It's you. So I removed the leverage."
The truth settles in my chest with brutal clarity. My breath shortens, and I press my palms flat against the table to steady myself. "You think I'll disappear?"
"I think you'll comply. That's different."
Silence stretches between us. The hum of the refrigerator fills the space, too loud, too present.
"Demi went to you?" I ask.
He nods. "She did."
Anger flares again, but something else slides underneath it, colder and steadier. "You didn't tell my father?"
"No."
"You didn't tell any of my uncles?"
"No. Like I said, not yet."
I straighten. "Then this stays contained."
