Page 83 of Silent Schemes

Of course, he knows about the job with Varrick.

My father knows everything.

Has eyes everywhere. Probably has someone in Varrick's organization, maybe multiple someones, feeding him information.

"I've been maintaining my cover," I say carefully, each word measured.

"Have you? Because from where I sit, it looks like you've been playing house. Playing partner." His voice drops to sub-zero, the temperature where flesh freezes on contact. "Playing family."

The last word hits like a bullet.

Does he know about the pregnancy?

No, impossible.

I've been too careful.

But Theodore has a way of knowing things he shouldn't, of seeing through walls and lies and carefully constructed facades.

"Everything I do is for the mission."

"Good. Then you won't mind a little test. The remaining Rosetti crew wants revenge for Matteo. They're planning something special for your boyfriend. Tonight. The Crimson Hotel, that charity gala he can't miss. Very public. Very messy."

My free hand clenches into a fist. "Father?—"

"If you warn him, if you interfere, I'll know where your loyalties lie. And sweet Maya will pay the price for your confusion." He pauses, letting that sink in. "I've had her under observation, you know. Such a pretty thing. Prime age for her first real assignment. Or perhaps Vincent would like to handle her training personally. He's always been fond of breaking in the new recruits."

The threat is clear.

The image of Vincent's hands on my sister makes bile rise in my throat.

"Are we clear?" Father asks.

"Crystal."

"Good girl. Remember, Sienna—you're mine before you're anyone else's. You've been mine since the day you were born. Don't forget who owns you."

The line goes dead.

I set the phone down with trembling hands, then grip the marble counter until my knuckles turn white.

The Crimson Hotel.

Tonight.

A setup designed to test me, to see if I'll let Varrick walk into an ambush.

The smart play is to stay quiet, let it happen, prove my loyalty to my family, to my father.

But I can't.

Not anymore.

Not when I've seen him stitch my wounds with gentle hands.

Not when I carry his child.

Not when I've already chosen him, even if he doesn't know how completely.