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Strange. The prospect of a shootout doesn’t scare me. Not at all. There are far more of our people here than theirs, and it just occurred to me that I officially put my Russian ass in the same category as the Greek mafia rather than the Bratva I’ve known my whole life.

Sure, I still have Mother Russia flowing through my veins, but my mom is British. My fiancé is Greek. Madd and Brix are a virtual mixed bag. I hold no allegiance to anyone other than my men at this point.

“I think the question you really want to ask if how the fuck I’m still alive,” I say, that same smirk still in place.

My mom glances at me, takes a sip from her glass, and averts her attention.

“Hey, Mom? Did you know I’m supposed to be dead? Or did he tell you I ran off, too?”

She huffs an annoyed puff of air. “Do you always have to be so dramatic? You’re making a scene.” Her posh British accent is more obvious when she drinks.

She also didn’t answer the question. And honestly, that’s all the answer I need. She didn’t care one way or another. I was one less burden for her to worry about. With me gone, she could focus her full attention on her favorite things – wine and shopping.

Not that her attention was ever truly on me to begin with, considering she never had much to do with my upbringing, relying on the nannies to tend to my needs. I honestly can’t even remember the last time either of my parents hugged me, told me they were proud of me, or they loved me.

“A scene?” I ask, my voice deceivingly and surprisingly even and low. “You think I’m making a scene. I’m curious – did you think I was dead? Did you know I’msupposedto be dead? That he let his men beat me nearly to death, then ordered Viktor to take me into the woods and shoot me?”

She doesn’t look shocked. Doesn’t look horrified. She looks…bored. Even after everything I just said, she looks bored.

“Oh, and I assume he didn’t mention he caused me to lose your first grandchild. I was pregnant. The four of us were going to start a life somewhere else. When I refused to tell him who the father was –”

“I doubt you knew who the father was,” Mom snaps, her eyes finally meeting mine. “Do you really think we didn’t know you’d been whoring around with anyone who would give you a hint of attention? I’m surprised you’re not knocked up now. But if the rumors are true, I assume you still wouldn’t know who the father is. Could be anyone’s, any single one of your Johns.” She leans forward a little as though ready to tell me a secret. “I knew it all. I knew my daughter was a whore. I knew you were a traitor spreading your legs for our enemy. I knew you were supposed tobe dead.” At that, she turns a disgruntled and disappointed look on my father before turning back to me. “And I knew you were selling yourself in Georgia.”

At that last part, my father turns a shocked look to his wife while all I can do is fight the growing emotions.

She all but admitted she was disappointed my father hadn’t been successful at having me killed. She called me a whore. She insinuated that I was sleeping with random people when my first time had been with Kato. I’d only ever made love to Brix, Kato, and Maddox until I had to find a way to support myself while staying completely off the radar.

Apparently, I hadn’t done that great of a job if my mom knew where I was and what I was doing to make money.

Why hadn’t she bothered telling my father? Why keep that a secret?

Because she knew I wouldn’t come back, or assumed I wouldn’t. She couldn’t have known Kato would track me down and drag me back here.

My heart feels as though it’s breaking when the woman who’d given me life looks me up and down, her attention lingering on the tattoo, the expression on her face the kind one gets when they step in a steaming pile of dog shit.

And then she turns her back on me and walks away.

I’ll deal with the sting of that rejection later. For now, my father is still glaring at me, his eyes pinging to each of my men then back to me.

“You really think I didn’t know you were fucking them?” he finally says.

“This will be the last time I warn you about the way you speak to my wife,” Kato warns.

To anyone watching, it has to be obvious this isn’t a happy reunion. The men are all tense, the guards at my back and myfather’s men standing feet behind him all look as though they’re prepared for a full out brawl.

But there’s no way they can hear our conversation over the surprised chatter rippling around the room.

My dad turns his attention to Kato. “You think because you killed Christos you’re some big, bad leader? You’re nothing but a kid playing dress up. I’ve heard how your men are turning on you, how they’re stealing from you.”

I frown a little, but don’t show any more reaction. I hadn’t heard that anyone was stealing from Kato or the Antoniou syndicate, but I sure as fuck don’t want my dad to know I’m being left out of business conversations.

Kato takes a step closer, and my father’s men mirror him, moving closer to their boss’s back.

“You haven’t garnered the loyalty you think you have. We’re fully aware you’re behind it. But I’m curious,” Kato says, scraping the back of his thumbnail against his bottom lip. “Is your Pakhan aware of your extracurricular activities? Has he been made aware of why his daughter’s childhood friend went missing?”

Father scoffs. “You think he gives a shit what I do or don’t do with my own daughter? You think he gives a shit whether I steal from the fucking enemy?”

I tilt my head and study the man I will never again think of as my father. This is the first time I realized he has a tell. The smallest tick in his jaw and rapid blinking.