Page 115 of Stricken

He's already here.

With that thought, I swing the door open.

Vlad's broad frame stands in the hallway, Ivan lurking like a shadow beside him. The temperature feels like it just jumped ten degrees higher. The palpable force of Vlad's presence presses against my skin.

"We need to talk," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument as he pushes past me into the room. Ivan remains outside, silent and terrifyingly calm.

I grind my teeth angrily. My displeasure is evident on my face. Not that I care.

"We certainly do," I reply, shutting the door. "You think a dozen roses will fix this shit you pulled?"

He walks to the center of the room and spins to face me. Both hands are on his hips, brows furrowed, serious look in his eyes.

"What do you want, Vlad?" I ask, my voice cold as an Alaskan winter. The roses sit on the table, their scent suffocating me all of a sudden. A pretty gesture, but empty. I suppose like everything else between us.

Vlad wastes no time, his voice rough but abnormally collected as he delivers a bombshell. "Hector obtained some intel that I thought would be wise to share with you since it concerns your family. Tony's going to be taken out tomorrow. Looks like Salvatore's behind it."

Shock ripples through me, followed by a wave of skepticism. My arms cross, an eyebrow arching in disbelief, even though a part of me wants to believe. "That's nonsense. My uncle and Salvatore may have their differences, but murder? You've got to be kidding me."

Vlad's gaze remains unwavering. "He tried to kill you, Nico. You don't think he has the guts to try and kill his own father?"

"Cousin who is competing with you and father are two different things."

"No, they are not. Either one is family. And family is everything."

"Look who's talking." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. "Sorr—"

"Every tree produces a rotten apple," Vlad supplies. "There's more. Hector said two men met with El Jefe. There's a mole in your family, Nico. Someone's helping Salvatore. I have no reason to lie about this."

I scoff, a harsh sound in the stillness of the room. "No reason? You've been trying to get under my skin since day one. How do I know this isn't just another one of your tricks?"

"Fine. What's the endgame? What do I gain from it? Your empire? I don't need it. I have enough on my plate as it is."

Suddenly, Vlad's demeanor changes. He steps closer, his hands reaching up to cup my face. His touch is gentle in contrast to the ruthless facade he wears like armor. "Nico, please. Trust me on this." His voice is soft, almost pleading.

I search his eyes. A rare show of vulnerability catches me off guard. Vlad's thumbs brush against my cheekbones, a tender gesture.

The weight of this new information finally sinks in. My arms drop to my sides, my defenses crumbling under the intensity of Vlad's stare.

He's right. If he wanted to use me, he could have done it a hundred times over by now. If he wanted me dead, I'd be six feet under. But here he is, warning me about a threat to my family.

The realization washes over me, cold and sobering. If Uncle's in danger, if there's a traitor in our midst, I need to act fast.

My mind struggles to think.

Who could the mole be?

How deep does this betrayal run?

I take a step back and away from the familiar cradle of his palms, raking a hand through my hair. I try to process everything but the anger still simmers. An insistent slow burn. An itch just beneath my skin.

"Nico," Vlad whispers. "I know I've been a bastard. I've treated you like shit ever since I came back from Mexico, and I'm sorry. But I'm here now, and I want to help. Let me make this right."

His words are a fragile offering of reconciliation and I study his face. Part of me, the one that's still pissed off at him, almost wants to find proof of deceit. But all I find is a man trying, asking to be heard, asking to be considered. At last, he's stripped away the layers of his invisible battle suit.

"Why should I trust you?" I ask, doing my best to hide the tremor in my voice.

"You can choose not to. But for what it's worth, I am sorry. I was out of line. I was in a shit mood. I had to do things I don't like doing while in Mexico. It got to me. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

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