Page 40 of Ruthless Dream

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Nat says you brought a date?” Mom’s brown eyes don’t stop searching my face like she’s looking for clues. God, I miss her even when she’s giving me a hard time.

“Hi,” Ciaran says, stepping forward.

“This is him?” she asks.

“This is Ciaran, Mom.”

She makes a show of looking him over. She hums under her breath, turning her chin.

Unless your name is Elijah or Yelena Zimin, my mother has never been rude. But now my mouth drops open. “Mom!”

“Your father wishes to speak to you.” She squeezes my arms before letting go of me. When I stand there, she nods in the direction of my dad.

“I’ll introduce⁠—”

“Go.”

It’s one simple word, but it cuts into me in a way I’ve rarely felt. An order coming from a woman born and bred in the mafia. For a split second, I am a child again.

One day you’ll learn to play the game.

I catch Ciaran’s eye. Maybe it’s because I begged him to be nice earlier, but I swear instead of being upset at missing out on a chance to meet my dad, he seems concerned for me.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, shuffling off. I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see Mom grilling Ciaran. Instead I watch her stride off, not bothering to chat with my date.

There’s a gaggle of men. Some faces I vaguely recognize. Dad is laughing, his smile widening when he sees me.

“Darling.” He presses a kiss to each cheek. “What’s wrong?”

I can’t help looking back once again to where I left Ciaran and Mom. “She’s. . .”

“Your mom is stressed,” Dad says. “She won’t admit it, but she’s sad you moved away.”

“Dad, I didn’t move to Russia.” Though now I’m regretting not picking a university in Europe like I’d toyed with. I could have missed out on a lot of drama. “I’m sorry.”

He cocks his head to the side.

“About not calling about Jack,” I explain.

Dad’s dark eyes hold steady, studying me. “I miss having you around the house, Ads. Lennie creeps around like a mouse. I never thought I’d miss Britney Spears blasting.”

A smile creeps over my face. “You know anyone is allowed to blast Britney Spears.”

He pinches my cheek. “How do I keep you safe, darling?”

“I am safe,” I lie.

He shoots me one of his fatherly looks. He’s pulled back into his group of businessmen, where they discuss boring things like cigars and old bottles of whiskey.

Nat appears, a whiskey in one hand. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I cross my arms, mirroring her posture. “Are you still in a bad mood?”

She tosses hair off her face. “I’m not in a bad mood.”

“You’re mad at me.”