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Then his gaze moves to Alessandro, and I see the obvious tension in his face as his eyes narrow slightly in the Don’s direction.
I do not need to be told to understand what is happening here.
It is an unspoken language of men; of power, and of desire, of alliances, both new, and old.
I am not a fool. And neither is Isaak.
Gabriel has told me enough.
Stories of the Don flying into London, visiting him whenever he is in the city. The Don has been asking around, showing curiosity in Gabriel’s family.
Gabriel is a stupid man if he thinks that it is a good thing for the Don to show him any interest.
He is a stupid if he thinks this will allow him to return to the famiglia.
To even go as far as offering his only daughter to the Don…
I can scoff at that ridiculous plan.
The fact that the Don has allowed Gabriel and I to remain breathing after everything we have done ismercy.
To ask for anything more—toexpectanything more—that is pure foolishness.
I notice the look in the Don’s eyes, the way his sole focus is on this conversation purely because of the mention of Isaak’s daughter. I see it clearly, the way he holds himself proudly, the way he does not hide his interest.
Without missing a beat, I look away.
I cannot help myself.
As grateful as I am for being granted the chance to continue living my life, to care for both my children, and continue being a father in their lives, I wouldneverbe able to give himthat.
Not my daughter.
Never my daughter.
Isaak can though.
He recognises this unspoken tension between the Don and myself, the things that I owe him for allowing me to keep on breathing.
His voice is rough as he mutters something under his breath in Russian, as though he is coming to terms with this.
“I may be old.” Isaak says, his tone laced with bitterness, but something else is there too. “But I’m still a man, and I know that when a man like Alessandro wants a woman like my daughter, he’ll doeverythinghe can until he has her.”
Pleased with Isaak’s words, the Don hums, the faintest of smiles stretched along his lips.
The room soon falls quiet after that.
Even the twins seem to understand the weight of their father’s words.
The air becomes thick with unsaid words, with regrets of the past, and expectations of the future.
I hold Chiara’s hand tighter, and for a moment, all I can think of is her safety, and her happiness—things that should have always been, and things that I will make sure stay that way, no matter what.
I will not letanybodytake that from her.
Not again.
It seems like we are all holding our breaths as the Don straightens. The change in the atmosphere is immediate as his gaze sweeps over the room, sharp and deliberate. There is an edge to his presence, a command that seems to vibrate in the air around him.