“And what is your plan?”
“To keep you with me until the child is born. Until I can ensure that I have claimed the child, and no one else can.”
“And then what do you do with me?”
“Again, that remains to be seen. Perhaps I will return you to your kingdom. And I will keep your child with me.”
He was being a villain now, and he knew it. He didn’t mean it, either. But he’d wanted to say it because it helped feed the dark, angry thing inside him.
Her face drained of color. “You can’t do that. You can’t take my baby.”
“But you tried to take mine.”
She looked down. “That was different. You wouldn’t have known. You would never have known.”
“And that makes it better?”
She shook her head. “No.”
The doors to the dining room opened, and Rebecca came in, carrying a tray with a giant bowl on it, and two smaller bowls beside it, along with some rustic bread. This was not the kind of showy feast that was served in Basilia. But it reminded him very much of meals he’d had in the nursery. With the other children. Other crime lords’ children. He wondered if any of them had survived to adulthood. If any of them had been able to decide their own fates. Or if, like his mother, all of the girls had been married off to dangerous, ruthless men. If, like him, the sons had been in danger of being collateral damage in a war, and if some of them had died before ever becoming men.
Likely.
They hadn’t known it, not then. They’d had fun, like other children did. Especially when they were able to be with each other. Rebecca set the terrine on the table and dished a helping of soup for him, and another for Emerald. “There is also bread and butter,” she said. Then she looked at Andrei for a very long time. “It is good to have you back. You are the image of your father.”
Andrei tried to smile. “Thank you.”
Then she turned and left them there. Emerald looked angry, but took a bite of soup, which turned into two, and then three, as she ravenously attacked it.
“Hungry?”
“Yes. I was stolen from my wedding and brutally dragged into the sea. It works up an appetite.”
“I would imagine.”
His own stomach growled, and he reached for the butter and the bread, lathering on a thick layer before dipping it in the soup.
The taste of home was undeniable. Strange. He wouldn’t have said that he missed this. That he missed Romania, or anything about the life he had before. But this reached down deep, into corners and memories that he hadn’t known existed still. This made him feel… Whatever the feeling was, he couldn’t say that he cared for it.
“You grew up here?”
“Partly,” he said. “My father had many residences. For many reasons. We would have people here to visit us, but they would have to switch modes of transportation to make it confusing. They would come blindfolded, guarded.”
“And they… Were okay with that?”
“I don’t think you understand. What Boris Ardelean demanded, would be done. He was a dangerous man. And no one stood against him. Except for Luca Accardi. Leader of one of the largest crime families in Italy. He was the only one who dared go up against my father, and he had decided that it was his mission to kill him. And once he stood up against my father, so did many of the other families that we had called… Friends.”
“Friends that were blindfolded.”
“There is some honor among thieves, Emerald, but it is not a very nice honor.”
“But you were only a boy. How were you aware of all of this?”
“It is part of being one of the children in these sorts of families. Particularly if you are the heir. We knew. We were hardened to the violence, to the danger from an early age. When your life is in danger from the moment you’re born, and those around you make it clear, you become accustomed to it. Then, you have no fear. When you have no fear, you can be molded into the kind of man who can run that sort of empire.”
“But your father was afraid. He ran.”
“Yes, and only then did I realize my father might not be…immortal. But he knew, of course. If you are dead, you cannot continue to amass wealth.” He was quiet for a moment, memories, feelings, impressions of a time long gone by filtering through his mind. “I do not think my father would have been proud of his death. I don’t think he felt there was a risk in the crossing. Because he would’ve rather died in a hail of gunfire, that much I do know.”
