"You need to eat," he replies calmly.
"So do you." I refute.
His mouth tightens, not irritation. Something else. Like he hadn't expected the mirror.
"I will," he almost smirks.
"When?" I ask.
He meets my eyes. Holds them. "After I know whereourson is."
The word lands:our. But I don't give him the satisfaction of seeing it. He doesn't get to play the martyr.
"Then we're both starving," I grind out. "Congratulations. Very productive."
A ghost of something crosses his face. Not a smile.
"Stubborn," he accuses.
"Takes one," I reply.
Silence settles as we both remember the old times we used to banter. But it's different now. Combative. He's still watching me intently when his lips move again. "I know where the helicopter went."
Just like that, we're back to business. Back to war. My heart steadies. Focus snaps back into place. "Where?"
"Venezuela."
The word doesn't make sense.
"Venezuela?" It takes me a moment to connect the dots. "So, my father was right. This is about the bill. About drugs."
"Looks like it," he agrees.
I press my arms against my chest, grounding myself, ignoring the way the suit moves when he shifts, how everything about him looks like it was designed to command attention.
"Kingsley's bill will hurt them. Nevada, New York, Chicago, and L.A. are their primary markets," Massimo explains.
I frown. "It's a good bill."
"Depends on where you stand," he disagrees. "Drugs are a lucrative business; they bring in a lot of money, and money is important to a lot of very powerful people."
I draw a slow breath, grounding myself. "Drugs are evil. They ruin lives. They kill people. They rot everything they touch."
Massimo watches me like I've just said something interesting, not naïve.
"People ruin themselves," he replies mildly. "Drugs just show them how."
"That's bullshit," I snap. "They need to be stopped. They shouldn't be coming into this country at all."
He laughs then. Not loud. Not cruel. Almost fond. "And you think your father is the right man to stop that?"
"Damn straight I do." As his daughter, I might not be his biggest fan, but this I can say without hesitation. "He believes in it. He's spent his entire career trying to clean things up."
Massimo nods once, slow. Considering. "Sweetheart," he says gently, and the word lands heavier than any insult ever could, "politicians are the ones who benefit the most from drug money."
I stare at him. "That's not true. They're the ones trying to stop it."
This time, he laughs out loud. The sound cuts through the room, sharp and unapologetic. He shakes his head like he can't believe I still think the world works the way it's supposed to.
