me, letting it ring and ring, before he swapped the cell in his hand for mine. He answered the call on speaker and rose to his full height.
“Alexei,” he said. “I hope the weather has been nice in Siberia.”
“If you’ve harmed my daughter, I will cut off your cock and shove it down your whore’s throat.” My papa’s voice sliced like a knife through the room, so harsh and foreign it sent a chill down my spine. It felt like I’d been slapped ten times harder than when Ronan hit me a moment ago.
Ronan chuckled. “Creative as always, Alexei. Unfortunately, as you’ve just seen, my cock is much closer to your daughter than where you’re hiding out.”
My gaze settled on the tattoos on my captor’s fingers, and my stomach went cold. He had men who did his bidding, he was outrageously wealthy, and he had apparently been to prison.
What was the word for Russian mafia?
Bratva.
It explained the strange men who came and went from our home, my papa’s secrecy about his work, his refusal to allow me into Russia, and Ivan. It explained red paint leaking from beneath . . . no. I couldn’t go there. It just explained everything. Every suspicion I’d ever had. His secret family now felt like a welcome reprieve.
“She has nothing to do with our business,” Papa snapped.
“Semantics,” Ronan countered drily, his thoughtful eyes on me. “She could be Tatianna’s twin. Must be awkward you fucked a woman who looked just like her.”
The only one who made it awkward was this heartless bastard.
“Mila is nothing like her mother.”
“Now, that I believe,” Ronan drawled, leaning against the dresser. “I’ve heard she was a sadistic bitch.”
My throat tightened.
He was lying. He had to be. Though I couldn’t help but remember the odd reactions in response to her name, including Vera’s terror when she’d looked at me.
No. I wouldn’t let him ruin my mother’s memory—the memory I created at least.
“Enough,” my papa grated. “We both know what you want. I will trade myself for her.”
Understanding became terror that closed my lungs. “No,” I breathed.
I knew what Ronan would do to my papa. I knew I would never see him again. The idea of having to traverse life all alone dropped a heavy weight on my chest.
I didn’t know about my papa’s transgressions—this secret, terrifying life he led—but I couldn’t just forget the good father he always was. The one who braided my hair as a child in place of the mother I never had. The one who read me bedtime stories, kissed me on the forehead, and called me his little angel.
“Mila.” It was a weary sigh over the line. He didn’t know I was listening, and regret softened his voice.
“I’m so sorry, Papa,” I sobbed.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed.
“I shouldn’t have kept my life a secret from you for so long. I only wanted to keep you safe.”
Was that why he lied about my death as an infant and cloistered me in Miami?
“This should have never touched you, and I am sorry for that. Just know I have always loved you, Mila, no matter what you hear about me.” That was the third time I’d ever heard him tell me he loved me, and it split my heart in half.
“Please don’t do this, Papa,” I pleaded. “He’ll kill you.”
“Ivan will stay by your side. He cares for you.”
An unpleasant tension shortened the oxygen in the air. Ronan ran a thumb across the scar on his bottom lip, and something obscure passed through his eyes, but I couldn’t discern it through the tears.
“This is all my fault,” I cried.
“No,” Papa said harshly. “It is mine, and I will take responsibility for it.”
His tone told me the conversation was over. I bit my lip to hold in a response until I tasted blood. The metallic flavor would normally send my blood pressure diving, but in the horror of this situation, it didn’t affect me.
Ronan broke the silence, his expression dry. “This is all a bit melodramatic for me.”
I didn’t know what hatred felt like until this moment. A tight ball of destruction that inflated in my chest.
“Send me the coordinates for the trade,” Papa said.
Ronan remained silent, a contemplative and tumultuous glint in his eyes as he watched me.
“What, no gloating? Unlike you, D’yavol.”
My stomach dropped, and my lips parted in awareness.
Ronan chuckled at my expression. “Don’t look at me like I made it up. I prefer a woman screaming my Christian name when I’m buried deep inside her.”