“That’s ridiculous.” But there’s no conviction at all in it. “How would you know something like that even if it were true?”
“I was the digital spy for Edmonton for two decades.” Nothing went on I didn’t know about, except that she was imprisoned. I didn’t know that, and I wish I had. “He killed her because she was having an affair with her bodyguard.”
It’s that moment that I see the pieces come together in her mind, like syncing music and lyrics. “Oh my god. My mother tried to tell me. Repeatedly.”
Her eyes are full of sadness and betrayal. Carefully, I grasp the little makeshift blade in her hand, and she releases it. I toss it away before rolling onto my back and bringing her with me. I bring her hands down to nestle between our chests. Then, fingers crossed for foolhardy, I release her.
She doesn’t move. “Antonio was my father. That was what she meant when she said blood and family are the most important thing.”
Kissing her cheek, I extract my hands to lightly run up and down her back as she rearranges reality in her mind.
“That’s why I don’t look…” She hesitates. “Like David Tottenham.”
She doesn’t call him her father, I note. It makes more sense this way, and she knows it.
“I’m sorry, ptichka.”
“He imprisoned me. He controlled me all this time and he isn’t even my father.”
My heart squeezes. I should have acted sooner. The extent of her captivity was a Tottenham secret not even I knew.
“He told me it was for my own protection.”
“He’s a liar. Men who can truly protect and satisfy the women they love have no need to keep them locked up.”
“Or held down,” she snips back at me.
“If you really wanted to escape or kill me, you’d have done it by now.”
She swallows and I can tell she’s thinking of the moments today that she flinched away from killing me, or was having too much fun to consider how vulnerable I’d left myself.
“You didn’t stop me. Is that what your parents’ marriage was like?” she asks in a small voice.
“Yes.” And it’s the kind of relationship I’ll have with Lotte. One based on absolute trust, with no need for locks or chains.
“So what is this? Revenge for Tottenham killing your parents?”
I shake my head. “I’m done with the feud. I’ve gone to some trouble to end it with a marriage, if you recall.”
“Tottenham was on the brink of financial collapse, even before you took over.” She levers herself up on my chest so she can see my face more clearly, and her hair falls over her shoulders in a gleaming dark waterfall. I run my hand through the silk of it—everything about her is a contrast of smooth and fire.
“Yes. I decided after my parents disappeared that I prefer warfare without bloodshed to those not actively involved. But I don’t shy away. What’s necessary is necessary.”
“Your brother and uncle both died just before you took control of the Edmonton Bratva.”
I guess I always knew this conversation would occur eventually. Betrayal of your own mafia is unthinkable in our world. It’s the ultimate taboo, a sign of corruption beyond anything the mafias might do to each other. I can only hope she understands.
“I killed them.”
Confusion creases her brow. “Both?”
I shrug. They could have lived if they had listened to me.
She shakes her head, but it’s not denial now. It’s disbelief and a little bit of… is that admiration? “Why?”
“My uncle was done with the feud too. But he had a very different solution to the one we came up with. He was going to bomb the tower.”
“Tottenham Tower?” she echoes faintly.
