Page 7 of Corruption

“Isaak,” Vaughn states tonelessly.

Isaak immediately jerks and says, “Right. Sorry D-Father.”

He rushes to stand at his father’s side.

Vaughn then turns to me and says, “I haven’t seen you in a while,Nadezhda,”

I glare at him.

I also want to snap at him that he doesn’t get to call me that anymore. He doesn’t get to act like he worships the ground I walk on when he would have let me be killed. The only thing that stops me is Alik’s earlier warning to behave… along with the pointed pinch in the small of my back when Alik returns to resting his hand there.

“Where’s everyone else?” I ask instead.

“The Fantonis insisted on a small, intimate gathering. Family only.”

“And when they said family only, what did that entail?” I ask. Because the Fantonis, the American branch of them anyway, have a very fluid definition of family.

“We approved the list in advance,” Vaughn says.

Alik and I take our place standing with Vaughn in front of the stairs as we wait for the Fantonis to arrive. They’re supposed to be here at seven. But seven o’clock comes and goes and the famed Italian family doesn’t arrive until twenty minutes afterward.

The front door opens and first to walk in are Addy’s and Adrian’s three oldest children. Eleven-year-old Lady and Leon and three-year-old Bella holding onto her brother’s hand. Alongside them is the platinum-haired orphaned heir to the Uccello Italian family empire, Velia. Following behind them is Eileen, Adrian’s right hand woman and most trusted advisor. Behind them comes Addy Fantoni, distinguished by one of her signature hats and having the audacity to wear a formal white business jumpsuit with a cape and deep V down the front while having a two-month-old baby strapped to her front.

But Adrian and his supposed daughter are nowhere in sight.

Addy pushes to the front of her family and says, “Our apologies for being late, Vaughn. It was my fault. Three years, and I’ve forgotten to account for how time consuming it is to get a baby ready for these things.”

She’s lying. But she’s expected to. Even on what’s technically enemy turf, she holds all the power. A long way from the fifteen-year-old girl I met seventeen years ago. But that girl is dead. Figuratively, of course, and legally, technically. I’m not supposed to know that, though.

“Nothing to apologize for,” I say. “You did get the gift I sent over when you and Adrian announced little Aiden’s birth, right?”

“I loved it. It was thoughtful.”

“Where’s your husband and his daughter?” Vaughn cuts in.

My lips twitch, but Addy doesn’t break character and speaks without even looking at Vaughn as she runs her thumb over her baby’s head.

“They’re outside. Adrian’s having a few words with her. Kiya’s a little nervous,” Addy says, her Italian accent slipping through when she’s usually fluent in English. “The past few months have been a lot for her. She’s never been in a setting like this before since she’s lived with her mother all this time.”

“It’s going to be a few minutes,” Eileen adds.

“Well, in the meantime, this way for refreshments,” Vaughn says, gesturing for everyone to follow him to a room just off the main dining room where we’ll be having dinner tonight.

It should be a tense affair considering why we’re here. My brother-in-law has been insistent in his accusation that Addy was responsible for his father’s death, despite the fact that Vaughn, Alik, and I know contrarily. But these kinds of dealings over a meal are run-of-the-mill for people like us. It’s not uncommon to be in the same room and even do business with someone who killed a family member here and there and then rectifying it with someone else’s blood or, in this case, someone’s son or daughter.

Isaak is in conversation with Leon and Velia, appearing to be blushing and stammering under the charming smile of Leon and the innocent grin of Velia. Lady is with them, smirking into her non-alcoholic sparkling cider as she takes amusement in seeing my nephew squirm.

Addy exchanges a few words with Vaughn and Alik before making her way over to me. She grabs a glass of wine on the way and is halfway to downing it by the time she gets to me.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong but a nursing mother isn’t supposed to drink alcohol,” I tease because I know full well she’s not nursing and paying an inordinate amount of money to get breast milk from the anonymous surrogate she and her husband used.

“Even if I was nursing, I need it much more tonight than it would harm,” she mumbles.

“You had a productive conversation with my brother-in-law, I see.”

“Asshole. And that’s saying something seeing as I’m married to the biggest asshole this side of the hemisphere.”

“I think Alik could give your husband a run for his money, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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