Page 24 of Sadistic

"I said I know." I turn back to them. "The wedding happens in two weeks. The alliance holds. Florida stays ours."

"Ours?" My mother's laugh is sharp. "Since when do you care about territory?"

"Since it comes with her."

They exchange a look—thirty-three years of marriage lets them have entire conversations in a glance.

"Show me the contract," I say.

My father pulls out the folder, thick with legal documents. Old school, like everything about him. "Standard terms. She moves in immediately after the wedding. Provides heirs within two years. Maintains public appearances?—"

"No."

Both their heads snap up.

"No?" My father's voice carries a warning.

"She finishes law school at UF. Maintains her own space until graduation. No timeline on children." I pour myself a fresh coffee since my mother stole the last one. "And she keeps her name professionally."

"You're giving her too much freedom," my father says.

"I'm giving her enough rope to either hang herself or help me build an empire."

My mother studies me with those sharp green eyes—the ones I inherited. "You've been planning this."

"For five years."

"The surveillance," she realizes. "This isn't new. You've been watching her since?—"

"Since the moment I knew she'd be mine."

My father sets down the contract. "Thirteen men, Doran. You've eliminated thirteen men who got too close to her."

I don't ask how he knows. Aleksandr Volkolv knows everything that happens in his territory.

"They were unworthy."

"And the boy this morning?" My mother's voice is carefully neutral. "Njal? Was he unworthy?"

The coffee mug creaks in my grip. "He's irrelevant now."

"Is he?" She stands, moves closer. "A woman doesn't spend thirty-six minutes saying goodbye to someone irrelevant."

"What would you have me do? Kill him for touching what was promised to me?" I set the mug down before I break it. "She said her goodbyes. That's all that matters."

"Is it?"

My mother—she sees too much, always has. It's what makes her dangerous in her own way. You don't become a fashion empire while married to the Bratva without being able to read people like books.

"Let me talk to him," she says to my father. It's not a request.

He kisses her temple as he stands. "Don't coddle him, Greer."

"When have I ever?"

My father takes the contract, makes notes in the margins. Old-fashioned pen, old-fashioned paper. "One hour. Then we leave for the clubhouse."

The door closes behind him, and my mother turns those laser eyes on me.

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