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They were not part of the ceremony or the burial, but they were there, lurking, taking photos, whispering rumors.

“Go ahead, but keep it short,” I say roughly.

Lara remains right against my side, her arm protectively around me.

The reporter smiles at her before starting her line of questions.

“It is no secret that you and Sergei did not get along. His son has been rather vocal about the conflict between you two. People are worried that his death was not an accident.” She tilts a recorder towards me.

“I did not hear a question,” I huff.

“Oh, um, sorry. What was your relationship like with Sergei? Is there any merit to what his son, Miron, is claiming?”

“Sergei was my mother’s husband. He made her happy, and I am sorry to lose him. He was a part of our family.”

“But you two were fighting?”

“All families argue.”

“Did you kill him?” she asks, boldly—and stupidly, because if Ihadkilled him, why the fuck would I confess it to her in some pathetic interview at the man’s memorial?

I’m biting my tongue, wanting to rip her throat out for the ridiculous question, but Lara speaks before I can think of anything to say.

“My husband, like the rest of the family, is distraught over the loss of his stepfather, Sergei. People in the media will, of course, want a juicier story than a simple, heartbreaking accident, because to whisper rumors of foul play is far more exciting than allowing a family to mourn in peace. Your line of questioning is incredibly disrespectful, and I suggest you move on before I have you removed from the venue. And do not even try to talk to Sergei’s wife. You have already made it clear that you have no intention of being empathetic to the pain she is in after losing someone so close to her heart.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to stare at Lara with my mouth open, wanting to keep my composure in front of everyone.

“Nestor…" The reporter looks shaken by Lara’s stern reprimand and decides to try with me again instead.

“I believe my wife made it very clear that you should shift to a more respectful line of questioning if you want to remain an invited member at this memorial. Save your gossip for the tabloids. We have nothing further to say to you.”

And when the reporter walks away from us, muttering an embarrassed apology, it takes every ounce of my self-control not to lift Lara in my arms and spin her around in celebration.

Instead, I pull her very close and lean down, whispering against her ear, “You are incredible, Lara. My mind is blown by how well you handled that.”

She looks up at me and smiles.

“I’m just looking out for you, Nestor.”

If not for my mother’s pain, I would have paid my respects and left hours ago. The memorial is dragging on, and I’ve spoken to so many different people, shielding against the rumors that Miron is spreading, doing my best to protect my family from them, and I’m exhausted.

Another reason I haven’t walked out of here is that Lara is right by my side, supporting me, defending me, and helping me stay calm in this heavy chaos. Her gentle touch, her arm around me, and her confidence as she stands at my side—it’s giving me more than she knows.

And more than I thought possible.

She’s giving me strength.

Miron is currently talking to a reporter a little way from us, and I can hear every third or fourth word. He is not being subtle in his accusations. I can’t believe that he thinks the media is the best way to deal with internal family issues; even though Ididn’t kill Sergei, I know Miron has made many attempts on my life, and I never once took it to the media. It’s not how things are handled in the bratva world.

It’s another glaring example of why he should never be trusted to lead San Francisco, even in the event of my death—he would be voted out of power before a few months had passed.

But by the laws of the mafia, he is next in line. The next closest relative who should take my place.

If I had a son, that would be different. My son would be the automatic heir, and I could appoint someone to teach him and hold my position until he comes of age.

That person would be Roan.

It would shock a number of people, but he is the only man I’ve ever felt enough confidence in.