Page 88 of Dirty Game
Her pulse jumps under the skin at her throat, and I can hear her breath shallow, hands curling to white. But she says nothing.
Sienna keeps going. “Dante. Say hello to your father.”
He takes a step forward, stance squared, chin up. It would be comical if it didn’t rip me open.
“You’re the bad man Mama cries about,” Dante says, voice brittle.
I almost smile. Almost. “I’m the man who put your mother on this throne.”
Dante’s mouth tightens into the same line I see in the mirror every morning.
He takes another step, then stops, glancing at Sienna.
Waiting for the next command.
Mikhail makes a show of checking his watch. “We don’t have all night, King. The Bratva expects a timetable.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I say, stepping so I block Rosalynn’s line of sight to the Russians. “Tell me what you want.”
He grins, white teeth too sharp for the face he wears. “Vancouver. You get the ports, we get the rail.”
Rosalynn’s hand finds my arm, squeezing hard enough I almost wince. I let her.
“You’ll never get the city,” I say, voice low enough that Sienna leans in to catch it. “You think this is how you win?”
Sienna laughs, delicate as glass needles. “Win? We already have what matters.”
She nudges Dante forward again. He doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t look away from me, either.
Rosalynn’s grip slips, her hand hanging loose. She’s piecing it together.
Mikhail lifts a hand, and two of his men emerge from the shadows—one with a leather case, the other with a gun he doesn’t bother to hide.
“Family to family,” Mikhail says. “It’s tradition.”
“You’re not family,” I say, flat and final.
Sienna’s eyes flash, that old hurricane rage surfacing for half a breath. “No? I’m the mother of your heir. That makes me forever, Varrick.”
Rosalynn’s composure shatters. She turns, inhaling sharply, but fast enough that the movement draws every eye in the lobby.
Squaring her shoulders, she walks off.
I motion to one of my men, who slips after her, following her to make sure no one tries anything stupid.
I hate her being out of my sight, but it is what it is right now.
I watch until she’s out of the room before I say, “She deserved better than this circus.”
Mikhail shrugs. “Deserve is irrelevant.”
Sienna’s hand stays on Dante, but her gaze is on me. She’s looking for a crack, a tremor, any sign I’ll break. I don’t give her one.
“We’re moving here next week,” she says. “You can have visitation, if you like. Or you can leave us alone, and pretend you never made this mess.”
Dante finally looks at her, then at me. His mouth opens, closes, words dying on his tongue.
“Go to the car,” Sienna tells him, soft as velvet. “We’ll be out soon.”
