Page 183 of Dance of Madness

“MayIask a question now?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“What do you know about the conflict our family had with the De Lucas four years ago?”

Papa doesn’t love talking about that time, because he was so close to death.

“You know what happened, Milena. The De Lucas planted a sniper across the street from this house. Theyshotat us,” he frowns. “I was sick, Levka was running things. He responded like a true Kalishnik.”

I swallow, shaking my head. “That’s not what actually happened, Papa,” I say quietly. “Therewasno shot at us. No sniper. No provocation.”

His brow wrinkles. “Milena, you’ve been misinformed?—”

“Papa,” I say tightly. “Ineed youto believe me on this.”

He frowns. “And on what grounds are you making this claim?”

My mouth thins.

“Nero?” he groans. “BecauseNerotold you?—”

“If you love me,” I hiss, “and you trust my judgment?—”

“Do I?” he growls.

I glare at him, and he sighs. “Of course I love you. And aside fromthismess, yes, I would trust you with my life.”

“Then trust me right now,” I say quietly. “Believe me, and trust thatIbelieveNero.” I look at him steadily. “Papa, the De Lucasdidn’tattack us.”

His face darkens as he picks up his glass and takes a sip.

“What would that mean,” I press, “if the De Lucasdidn’tattack first, and it was us who started the whole thing.”

Papa’s face is grim. "It would mean terrible things, but that's not?—“

“It is, Papa,” I say quietly. “It isexactlyhow it happened. Think about it. Why did we use mercenaries that night?”

He looks up sharply. “We didn’t. This family doesn't use mercenaries to fight its battles,” he grunts.

“We did that night.”

He shakes his head tiredly. “No, Milena. Your uncle reached out to the Panachev Bratva for assistance. He and Oleg Panachev were cellmates, back in Russia?—”

“Why not use our own people?”

Papa sighs. “Because when you shoot at a king, Milena, youcannot miss.” He raises his eyes to me. “If we used our own men, andmissed, Antonio De Luca would have come for us.” His mouth twists. “Imagine we killed his family, buthesurvived. How do you think your uncle or I could ever sleep again, knowing the target onyou?” He sips his vodka. “Anyway, Panachev’s men aren’t mercenaries.”

My brow furrows as I reach into my pocket and pull out the little thumb drive that I brought here from Greymoor.

…The one I pulled out of the TV in the basement.

“I need you to see something. Is there a laptop around?”

He frowns. “My office,” he murmurs. “Come.”

He puts his arm around me, leading me upstairs and into his throne room.

“It’s on the desk,” he says, going to the closet and pulling out a dress shirt. He shrugs it on, buttoning it halfway before he walks over to where I’m inserting the drive into the computer.

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