“Maybe that’s the problem.” The words come out harsher than I intend. “I’m tired of everything you taught me.”
His hand moves faster than I can track, the slap connecting with my cheek before I can even flinch. I taste blood where my teeth cut into my cheek. The familiar copper taste of childhood lessons.
“You disrespectful little s**t,” my father hisses. “Everything you have, everything you are, comes from what I taught you. You think you’d survive a day without the Bratva’s protection?”
I say nothing, though every muscle in my body screams to hit back.
But that’s not how this game is played.
That’s not how I win.
“I’ve given you enough rope to hang yourself,” he continues. “No more. You have one month, Vincent. One month to choose a suitable bride from the candidates I’ve selected.
