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My father’s office.

Each of the men nod at me as I pass, acknowledging my position as daughter more than my place as Pyotr’s second. I see it in their eyes every time I pass.

One day, I will destroy that mentality.

The fact that my uncle married my mother when my father died. He built this place with my grandfather. It should be my birthright, but for the backward chauvinist bullshit.

This is how things are in the Old World.

And I know Ciro sees it, the similarities between this and the other half of his bloodline. The Italian Mafia.

I guess I am fortunate that Pyotr is somewhat progressive. Even if he relies on our relationship for my viability.

“Papa.”

“Vanya,zaychik.Voydite.”

“Ciro Diamante, as you requested.”

“Otlichnyy, excellent. So this is American. Italiano.”

“Volk,” Ciro snips, with just enough of a bite that I hide a smile, but worry for his life.

Pyotr stands, circling the table like the massive bear that he is, storming right up to place his nose an inch from Ciro’s. To his credit, Shakal does not flinch.

He should.

Suddenly, Pyotr throws his head back, laughing uproariously. Clapping both hands on the shoulders of the stunned, slender man before him, he shakes Ciro and hugs him before letting him go.

“They say you are fucking nails,da? How was hell?”

“Um, not the best place I’ve stayed. Not the worst.” Ciro smirks. That smile spreads into a wolf’s grin, aimed at me, then back at Pyotr. They are two of a kind, these two.

“You chose well,doch.”

“Thank you. I will go now.”

“Net. You are ready. And he is yours. Stay.”

Nodding, I step to the door, closing and putting my back to it, in the fashion of the guards. It is ingrained in me, and stunned as I am that he is letting me stay…

“So, Shakal. Do you miss your family?”

“I miss my brothers.”

“You have new brothers here.”

“Yes. I do. Thanks to you. To Vanya.”

“There is no need to hide it for fear of retribution. You want news from home. I can give you this.”

“Being out of the loop for three months feels like…”

“Like lifetime. I know.”

My father watches Ciro closely, that piercing cold gaze so familiar to me. He is regal, graying at the temples, still good-looking as he ever was. And as brutal as he ever was too. Pyotr fought alongside my father, clawing their empire out of nothing.

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything, just?—”