Page 70 of The Bratva Betrayal

Everything in me goes very, very still.

"No."

"Yes," he says calmly. "A marriage will solidify our alliance with the bratva. You'll have legitimate access. No more intel gathering through half-truths and whatever it is you do with that boy. You'll be protected. Rian and Killian will be protected. And the family will have what it needs."

"You can't be serious."

"When am I not serious, Caitlin?" He clears his throat. "I met with Misha two days ago." He moves to his desk and picks up his whiskey. "We came to an agreement."

Two days ago.

Two days ago, I sat across from Misha in a restaurant and let him think he was charming me. Two days ago, my father was in a room somewhere, shaking hands and deciding what I was worth and what that price bought.

"You met with him," I repeat slowly. "About me."

"About the family." He says it like there's no difference. "You're a part of this family, Caitlin, so yes."

"And why would you think this was an idea I should be flattered or excited about?"

"I never said you would be. But you're family⁠—"

"I'm property of this family."

Something flickers behind his eyes, but he remains calm. "Don't be dramatic."

"You just told me that I'm being sold into a marriage for access and alliance. How would you like me to be?"

He sets down his glass and ignores my emotion. "You are talented; I'll give you that. Clever. Resourceful. You've surprised me more than once." He pauses, and I see what's coming. "But your real value⁠—"

"Don't."

"—lies in⁠—"

"Da. Don't."

"—your ability to secure what this family needs." He finishes it cleanly. "Misha is manageable. You're smart enough to run circles around him. It won't be the prison you're building it into in your head."

I look at my father for a long moment.

I think about all the languages I taught myself. The databases I've learned to move through and manipulate. The rooms I've walked into alone that would make his men sweat, only to walk back out with exactly what I’d come for. I think about every piece of intelligence that's kept this family a step ahead, and every calculation I've run so quietly that no one gave me credit for.

And I think about how none of it has ever made him look at me the way he looks at Rian.

It has never been enough.

I don't know why I still expect it to be. He is who he is. He has always been who he is. The man standing at his desk with his whiskey and the calm, closed face is the same man who missed every school play, my graduation dinner, and every moment that mattered to me personally because something else mattered more to the family professionally.

I am not surprised.

I am just tired.

"Do Killian and Rian know?" I ask quietly.

"Not yet. I didn't want to interrupt the evening."

He didn't want to interrupt Killian's birthday. He didn't want to cast a shadow over the table, over the lamb and the candles and the too-loud laughter. Instead, he pulled me aside in the middle of it and made sure everyone else got to enjoy their evening intact.

He has always done this.