He stopped at the foot of the stairs, pulling off his fedora with deliberate calm. His gray-threaded beard caught the light, and the cold curve of his mouth made Yelena’s stomach drop.
“Uncle…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why would you do this? I’m your blood!”
“Blood?” His laugh was sharp and humorless. “You bled me first, Yelena. Do you think I forgot? That deal should have been mine, but you handed it to Wolfe.” His eyes were razor-sharp as he stepped closer.
Yelena’s breath hitched. The memory of that night slammed back; her choice, her gamble. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his stare.
“I did what I had to, Uncle Makaim,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite her defiance.
“Shut the f**k up, Yelena!” His eyes burned with
