“Ava,” my father cautioned gently.

What the hell?

“No.” I slammed my hand down on the Formica tabletop. “I’m done with the lies and subterfuge. How am I supposed to trust my own men when they can’t tell me the truth? Do you not trust me to be your leader? Was you backing me with your father all a lie?”

“It’s not like that, Ava.” Vas pushed his chair back and stood. He leaned toward me, hands on the table. “I need you to trust that I can’t tell you everything. Not right now.”

The laugh that left my lips was mirthless.

“That’s not how this works, Vasily,” I told him. “Matthias and everyone kept me on the outside. Hell, I didn’t even know I would inherit theBratva.Or that his security company was an actual thing and not some showboat site. How can I trust someone who has never once trusted me?”

“I do trust you.”

My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline. “Then where is Dima?” I crossed my arms against my chest and stared at him expectantly. Vas sighed and hung his head. “That’s what I thought. Send up what you need me to learn.”

Then I walked away.

“Shit,” Vas raged behind me. My father whispered something to him that was too low for me to hear. Whatever he told him didn’t appear to have any effect on Vas. Not at first. But slowly, he submitted and sat back down in his seat.

What the hell was going on?

One thing I knew for sure, I was going to get to the bottom of whatever they were hiding.

Even if I had to do it myself.

CHAPTER TWELVE

This was ridiculous.

Stupid.

Certifiable.

Groaning, I swept my untamed curls into my signature messy bun and took a step back from the bathroom mirror. Tilting my head, I surveyed the outfit, wondering what was missing.

Ah.

My gun.

Using the new holster Bailey had bought me, I secured my weapon at the small of my back, shifting my oversized knitted cardigan to cover it.

There. Perfection.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Great. Just what I needed. An appearance by a Tim Gunn wannabe.

“Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” I quirked an eyebrow at him through the mirror.

“No.” Vas dragged the word out, his voice pitching slightly with his lie. “Just seems a bit…casual is all.”

I turned to face him. “You said it was a date.” I pointed a manicured finger at him. “Is this not a date outfit?”

“It’s a business date,” was his rebuttal.

“Well, I don’t want to sit all night in business attire.”

“Your top is too low.”