Page 96 of Crown of Blood

Vito's eyes narrow, assessing my reaction. "Defected. Took valuable information to our enemies. All for the love of a woman who was carrying his child."

My mother. Me. The implications crash over me in waves.

"The Volkovs," I breathe, pieces falling into place. "He went to them."

"Very good." Vito nods, clearly pleased with my quickness. "Yes, your father found sanctuary with Dmitri. A sanctuary paid for with Ravelli blood and secrets. Handsomely paid, too, as I understand."

My hands clench in my lap, nails digging into my palms. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because my son is determined to uncover truths best left buried." Vito's voice hardens, all pretense of grandfatherly warmth vanishing. "He believes Elena's murder was... shall we say, an internal matter rather than a Volkov hit. He's wrong, of course. But in his quest, he risks exposing connections that could destroy everything I've built."

"Connections to my mother," I guess. "To me."

Vito sets down his teacup with a sharp strike against the saucer.

"Luca believes he loves you. Believes you're his salvation in this bloody business. How do you think he would react, I wonder, to learn that the woman he carved his crest into carries Volkov blood? That his own father has been monitoring you your entire life, waiting for the perfect moment to use you?"

The casual cruelty of his words steals my breath. "Use me how?"

"As leverage, of course." He waves a hand dismissively. "The daughter of a traitor, placed in my son's bed. The poetry of it is almost too perfect to resist."

"You're lying," I say, though doubt creeps like poison through my veins. "Luca found me by chance. In that hotel room. I was there by chance that night."

Vito's laugh turns into another coughing fit, this one violent enough to spatter blood onto the pristine cloth covering his lap. When he recovers, his eyes burn with malicious amusement.

"By chance? My dear, nothing in this family happens by chance. Especially not when it comes to power and succession." He leans forward, voice dropping to a conspirator's whisper. "My son wants the throne. And by now, you know as well as I do, he'll stop at nothing to get it."

I flinch involuntarily, remembering the man in the basement, hanging from chains as Luca tore into his flesh with pliers.

"Ah," Vito's eyes light with satisfaction at my reaction. "So you've seen what he's capable of. Good. Then you understand what's at stake."

I rise abruptly, unable to bear another moment in his presence. "Excuse me. I'm not feeling well."

Vito doesn't try to stop me, but his voice follows as I move toward the door. "When Luca learns the truth about your bloodline, about your father's betrayal, about my plans for you—what do you think he'll do then, Bianca? Will he still worship at your feet? Or will you join the ranks of his enemies?"

I don't answer, can't answer. I fling open the door and flee into the hallway, heart hammering against my ribs as I search for sanctuary in this house of lies.

I find Teresa in my bathroom, already drawing a bath as if she anticipated my need to cleanse after Vito's poisonous revelations.

"You knew," I accuse, shutting the door behind me with a slam. "About my father. About Alexei Petrov."

She doesn't deny it, doesn't even look surprised at the name. "Of course I knew."

"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice breaks, anger giving way to something more painful. "All this time, whenever I asked about my mother, about my past—"

"It wasn't my story to tell." She tests the water temperature with her elbow. Like a mother running a bath for her child. "I told you, dear. Some secrets protect, Bianca. Others destroy."

"And which is this?" I demand, sinking onto the edge of the massive tub. "Because right now, it feels like destruction."

Teresa sighs, adding oils to the steaming water. "Remove your dress. Let me help you."

I stand mechanically, allowing her to unzip the sheath and help me step out of it. My body moves on autopilot while my mind reels with implications, connections, betrayals layered upon betrayals.

"Your father was a good man, once," Teresa says as I sink into the hot water. "Loyal. Clever. Vito valued him above many others."

"Until he betrayed the family for my mother."

Teresa nods, pouring water over my shoulders with a silver pitcher. "Love makes men do unwise things. Especially when there's a child involved."

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