Page 128 of Inked Adonis

“Samuil is more my family than you ever were.”

I don’t mean to say it. The less information my father has, the less leverage he has to bend me to whatever his will is.

But I can’t stop the truth from rushing out of me.

He rises, cracks his knuckles, and takes a sauntering step towards me, silently towering over me the way he used to when I was a child. He’s waiting for me to buckle under the weight of his disappointment and rage. Up to his old tricks again.

But I don’t so much as flinch. “You can’t make me hurt him. I won’t. Not for you and definitely not for Katerina Alekseeva.”

If he’s surprised I know who he’s working with, he does an excellent job of covering it up.

Slowly, he retreats and pulls out a chair for me at the table. “Sit.”

I only accept the offer because I’m milliseconds away from collapsing with sheer exhaustion. My thigh is shaking even as I drop down into the chair.

The silence stretches, straddling the line between discomfort and intimidation—my father’s sweet spot. Finally, he folds his hands in front of him. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t do it. I owe you nothing.”

“Except your life.”

There are a lot of ways one could take that, but with Dad, the answer is always obvious: it’s a threat. I was unconscious a few hours ago. He could’ve killed me if he wanted. Just like he could’ve killed me any of the dozens of times growing up that he grabbed me by the throat and threw me to the floor.

He could kill me right now, too.

But it still wouldn’t change a thing.

“If you want to hurt Samuil, you’ll have to do it without me.”

He chuckles and scrubs a meaty hand over his chin. “You’ve grown a spine since I last saw you, girl.”

I force myself to hold his gaze. “I’ll go over your head. There are people I can report you to. The commissioner. Or Internal Affairs.”

Tough as he always seemed, my father was terrified of what would happen if people found out what he got up to behind closed doors. It’s why he bullied me into silence and isolated me from anyone who might try to help.

But I’m not a scared kid anymore. I know how the world works.

Or at least, I thought I did.

But even after showing him all of my cards, my father is looking at me like I’m nothing. Less than nothing. A bug underneath his boot.

Just a little pressure, a littleoops,and I’d be a stain on his heel. Instantly forgotten.

“Go ahead,” he suggests. “Do it.”

“What?”

He laces his fingers together and leans across the table toward me. “You really think anyone will care? Everyone in this city is on the take from one gang or another, even the commissioner. Make thatespeciallythe commissioner.” He snorts. “This whole city’s rotten to the core. No one will help you. They’re just looking for their next payout.”

I reach for my crutch, fingers wrapping around it tight enough to whiten my knuckles. A weapon if I need it. A crutch in every sense of the word.

But my father is relaxed in his chair. He couldn’t be less bothered, by the looks of him. Just a normal chit-chat with his daughter. His casualness is more terrifying than his rage ever was.

He sighs and examines his fingernails as if he’s bored. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering to explain all this. This is a waste of time. You’re going to do exactly what I order you to do.”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“I suppose that’s true, in one sense,” he agrees, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile that chills me to my core. “In another sense, all it would take is a few calls to have your grandmother kicked out of her home—cut off from medical care, secure housing.”

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