I don’t know which possibility I hate more.
Anton breaks the silence. “We’ll keep digging. If your father even breathes in the wrong direction, we’ll know.”
I nod once.
That’s when I hear the soft click of heels behind us.
All four of us turn.
My mother stands in the doorway in a dark silk robe, one hand still resting on the frame. Her expression is calm, but I know her too well. She’s been listening long enough to understand the shape of the conversation, if not the details.
Her gaze moves from me to Ilya, then to Sergei and Anton. “So,” she says quietly, “everyone is still pretending I don’t hear things in my own home.”
Ilya rises first, all polished manners. “Good evening.”
She waves that away. “If it were a good evening, you would not all look like undertakers.”
Anton and Sergei stand as well. They respect her. Everyone does. My mother may never have held power openly, but she has survived too much for anyone to mistake her for fragile.
I set my glass down. “Mama, it’s late.”
“And yet you are all still here.” Her eyes settle on me. “Which means this is not business. It is family.”
No one speaks.
She steps into the room and closes the door behind her with a soft, deliberate motion.
“I heard enough,” she says. “Your father is moving against you again.”
It is not a question.
I don’t bother insulting her with a lie. “Possibly.”
Her face hardens in that quiet way she has, the one that reminds me exactly how much of my steel came from her, not him.
“And the girl?”
The room stills. I don’t answer quickly enough. That alone tells her too much.
Her eyes sharpen, just slightly. “Ah.”
Ilya, bastard that he is, says nothing, which means he is enjoying this immensely.
My mother studies my face another moment and then sighs, almost sadly. “You always did make things harder for yourself when they mattered.”
I feel irritation start to climb. “This is not the time.” My voice comes out colder than I intend, but my mother doesn’t flinch. She rarely does.
Instead, she steps farther into the room, her gaze moving from me to Ilya and then to Sergei and Anton, who have all gone just still enough to be obvious about it.
Her eyes settle back on me. “So, who is the girl?”
I keep my face blank. “It’s no one.”
My mother’s expression does not change, but I know her well enough to see the disbelief in it. “No one?”
“That’s what I said.”
She studies me for a beat too long. “Then why are your men discussing her safety in your living room?”
