I shrugged. "They know where to find me if they want to talk."
My father sighed, setting his glass down on the side table. "This distance you've created…it's unnecessary, Grace. You're an O'Sullivan. That doesn't change just because you're at Harvard."
"I'm not trying to change who I am. I'm trying to build something of my own."
"Admirable. But naive." He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Everything you have—your education, your apartment, your future—it's all possible because of this family. Because of what I've built."
I bit back the retort that burned on my tongue.What you've built is soaked in blood money.
"I'm grateful for the opportunities I've had," I said instead, keeping my voice neutral. "But I've made my position clear. I'm not interested in the family business."
"The family business is what keeps you safe." His voice hardened slightly. "What keeps all of us safe. The world out there isn't kind to people who stand alone."
"Is that a threat?"
He looked genuinely surprised. "Of course not. It's a reality. The Giordanos, the Contis, the Vitales—they're all watching us, looking for weakness. For division."
"And that's why you want me at this dinner? To present a united front?"
"Partly." He picked up his glass again, swirling the whiskey. "Anthony Giordano has a son. Harvard Law, like you. Graduated last year."
The implication hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating.
"No," I said flatly.
"You haven't even met him."
"I don't need to. I'm not a bargaining chip, Father."
"This isn't the dark ages, Grace. I'm not arranging a marriage. I'm suggesting an introduction."
"For what purpose?"
He shrugged, the gesture too casual to be genuine. "Networking. Building connections. Isn't that what they teach you in that fancy school of yours?"
I stood up, my hands clenched at my sides. "I'm not interested in 'networking' with the son of a crime family."
"But you'll network with the daughter of a senator? The son of a CEO?" He raised an eyebrow. "Where do you think their money comes from? At least we're honest about who we are."
"There's nothing honest about what this family does."
The words slipped out before I could stop them, hanging in the air like a gunshot.
My father's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes hardened. "Sit down, Grace."
I remained standing.
"Sit. Down."
Slowly, I lowered myself back into the chair, my heart pounding in my chest.
"You think you're better than us," he said quietly. "With your law books and your moral high ground. But let me tell you something—the world you're so eager to join? It's just as corrupt as ours. The only difference is they hide it better."
"That's not?—"
"I'm not finished." His voice was soft but carried the weight of command. "You want to build something of your own? Fine. But don't forget where you come from. Who you are. The O'Sullivan name opens doors, but it also paints a target on your back. You think you can just walk away? That our enemies will respect your career choices?"
Fear coiled in my stomach, cold and familiar. "What are you saying?"
