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I force a lid on my heated thoughts and grumble. “Well, if you must know, I’d rather die than marry Hugo Antonov. Besides, there’s someone . . . shall we say, higher in line for him.”

“Your fifteen-year-old cousin,” he spits.

I blink, taken aback by the venom in his voice. I don’t even bother asking how he knows about Flavia; given Antonov’s unrivaled trafficking empire and Cade’s line of work, their paths must cross frequently. It’s his revulsion that doesn’t make sense.

“Why the sudden interest in my marriage prospects anyway?”

He holds my gaze. “Because Antonov is the man I’m going to see in Moscow.”

“See, as in . . . ?” My eyes catch on the metallic glint at his nape, and understanding hits. “You’re going to kill him!”

Cade does that side nod.

“B-But why?”

His jaw clenches. “Because he has it coming.”

“Okay,” I say like that makes perfect sense. “It’s the underage thing right?”

“Among other things.”

I hesitate, then push further. “No offense, but . . . why should that small detail bother you? You’re much worse than him. At least he’s marrying her. You sell women into slavery.”

A muscle flickers in his jaw, but he doesn’t respond. There’s no guilt, and that righteous fury remains. Cade really believes he’sbetter than Antonov. “Why do you think it’s your place to rain judgment on him?”

The silence between us stretches, heavy with everything he’s not saying.

“Right,” I scoff, crossing my arms. “I have to earn that answer, don’t I?”

“Possibly.” He sets down his glass with deliberate care and mirrors my stance. “Tell me something first.” His gaze turns calculating, and my stomach tightens, knowing that whatever he’s about to ask, I won’t like it.

“What?”

“Did you know Clemenza Brando was going to sell you for thirty million?”

My eyes pop. “Whoa! Thirty million dollars! Holy shit, I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little flattered by that price tag—”

Cade holds up a hand to stop me. “Trust me, they would have gotten their money’s worth out of you.”

He leans forward. “But here’s the real kicker. Hugo Antonov is worth billions. Your dowry alone would be fifty million. Add a yearly allowance of two million to that, with the figure doubling with each child you bear. Then there’s the properties, the status, the protection. A marriage alliance with Hugo Antonov would be a masterstroke for the entire Romano dynasty.”

Ice slithers down my spine. “I still don’t hear a question.”

“Here’s three: Why would Clemenza choose a measly thirty million over that jackpot? Why would your father pick your underage cousin over you? Why would he pass up a chance for a direct link with the Pakhan and risk his kid brother becoming more powerful than him?”

Each question lands like a wrecking ball, threatening to crack me wide open. I force a wry chuckle as I scramble for something to say. “Because . . . they’re idiots? Hell, even crawling back to Don Vitelli would make more sense than selling me for pocket change.”

The weight of Cade’s disbelief fills the room like smoke. I feel his scrutiny, his silent demand that I tell him the truth. But that truth . . . it’s my deepest, darkest secret, the one that could change everything.

I barely know this man. How could I ever trust him with the ticking time bomb buried in my DNA and risk seeing pity—or worse, disgust—in his eyes?

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to meet his gaze and lie. “If I knew the answer to that, Cade, I wouldn’t be here.”

He studies me for what feels like an eternity, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he pulls a pen and a sheet of paper from a drawer.

“Change of plans. I’m leaving at dawn. I can’t make the detour to drop you in Paris after all. I’ll send someone to take you there in a few days.”

“What?”