HIS RUTHLESS MAFIA OBSESSION

CHAPTER FIVE

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Daddy Loves me, Daddy Forgets. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

|Genevieve|

The silence around me feels personal.

But Ingrid's voice still echoes—

"You left a hole wide enough for them to walk through, and they brought friends too."

I wince and kick the duvet off me. This is no time for a beauty sleep.

The Vasin syndicate just ate through my offshore account, and all I've got left is a stupid alias and a crumbling reputation.

I pace to the window, cigarette trembling between my fingers. I need to find answers, and I need to find them fast.

How the hell did they get access?

Who fed them my blueprint?

I drag a breath in.

Ingrid's furious. My cartel is crumbling. My accounts are bleeding, and if Andrey catches a whiff of weakness—it's a matter of time before he'll burn me to the f*****g ground.

I bet he doesn't know I left his house already.

And my father? What game is motherfucking Gravehand playing?

First, he didn't come to my wedding.

Didn't call. Didn't send a proxy. Didn't ask if I was alive. And now, he's buying assets?

How could he even afford to buy off the missile blueprint in retirement?

As much as it sickens me, the first place to start digging is at Daddy dearest's feet.

And Ingrid doesn't need to know how far I'm willing to go to find answers. I can hear her judging silence in my head.

I smooth my hair and reach for the coat I left draped over the velvet armchair.

Paint my lips back to cherry-red.

Poker face? Check.

And then I leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My childhood home greets me like a bad memory, reminding me of everything I've survived.

Cold and lifeless.

Even the air feels judgmental.

I step inside. The butler doesn't meet my eye, and I don't bother pretending to care.

That's what loyalty looks like in this house: eyes down and mouth shut.

I walk the hall slowly, letting the chill in the marble walls seep into my bones.

As I near Jonas' study, hushed voices filter into the crack in the door.

One of them is his.

The other belongs to Nikolai Massimo, his loyal bulldog and head of security.

I pause as my hand hovers at the handle.

Suddenly, I feel fifteen again—scared, unseen, and praying he'd look at me with love just once.

No.

I swallow.

Not today.

I push the door open without knocking.

Two heads turn.

"Girl?"

"Genevieve?"

Their words hit at once.

Nikolai stands like he's expecting a threat.

Jonas doesn't even bother getting up.

I ignore the dog and walk in slowly, eyes locked on my father. He won't even say my name.

"Hi, Father." I keep my voice flat.

"Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?"

Nikolai cuts in before Jonas can answer.

I don't fail to detect the hint of mockery beneath his words.

"I've come to see you, Father," I say to my father, ignoring Nikolai again. "Privately."

Jonas waves a hand without looking up. "Leave."

Nikolai doesn't move right away.

"Sir?" he asks, his eyes lingering on me a little longer, like he's waiting for my mask to slip.

"I said leave." Jonas's tone is sharper now.

Nikolai exhales like he's disappointed he doesn't get to pick me apart like he always does. Then he strides past me as his gaze lingers for a second, and shuts the door behind him.

Finally, we're alone, and the air tightens.

Jonas still hasn't looked at me.

I walk toward the window and stop just short of the sunlight.

"If you wanted me to feel humiliated," I say, "you could've just sent a letter."

Jonas finally lifts his gaze. "You humiliate yourself every waking day just fine."

My jaw ticks, but I keep my back straight. "You didn't come to the wedding."

"I wasn't invited."

"You were expected."

"I don't show up to funerals," he says. "Especially when the bride is the one digging the grave."

His words sting, but of course, I don't show it.

"Anyway," I slam a piece of paper on his desk, "care to explain?"

Gravehand looks slightly shocked. "How dare you? What's this?"

"You think I wouldn't find out? I needed the Zurich shell," I say carefully, "And the blueprint was my lifeline."

A low, mirthless chuckle escapes his lips.

"Letting you have what you wanted over the years has given you enough guts, hasn't it?"

"I'm not scared of you, Father."

I clutch the purse tightly, never taking my eyes off him.

"You should," he fires back, rising from his seat, "especially when you're in here throwing accusations at my face!"

I watch his lips move with rehearsed ease, and something in my chest caves.

My fingers curl into my palm, holding me in place, preventing me from shaking him and screaming, 'I know it was you.'

"You were the only person with access," I say quietly.

A beat of silence passes as Gravehand walks toward a painting and reaches behind it for an envelope.

He looks at me, disappointment morphing on his face. "I taught you how to cover your tracks, Genevieve," he replies smoothly. "I didn't think I'd need to teach you to watch your back every time."

"I never needed you for anything!"

The words slip from my lips before I can hold them back, but that does not stop me from saying more.

"You are just mad that I do a better job than you as a mafia boss! You're just mad that I didn't do what you wanted for once! You are only mad because I married Andrey against your wishes."

My voice cracks slightly at the end of my statement.

I hate how fast I go from furious to the fifteen-year-old girl who always wanted his validation.

Like I'm still that girl in a tight pair of pants and a baseball hat who brought him her first fake passport like it was a trophy.

"That's the blueprint to your precious missile," he replies calmly, ignoring my outburst.

My shoulder almost slouches, but I force the ball in my throat, keeping my back in check as my eyes land on the envelope beneath my feet.

Classic narcissistic Jonas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams behind me with a finality.

I slide into the back of the car, yanking off my coat like it's suffocating me.

"Drive," I mutter. "Anywhere that's not here."

The driver nods. Doesn't ask questions. He knows better not to.

I lean against the window, letting the cold bite at my temple. It's a different feeling from the burning chaos in my head.

Then my phone lights up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

My brow furrows. Only Ingrid has this number

I open the message without thinking.

"You look pretty when flustered."

My stomach coils.

Andrey.

Another text comes in before I can respond.

"But not as pretty as you did when you begged me to take you right on my bed."

My breath catches.

I know which night he means.

The night I tried to kill him.

The night he tied me up, read my body like the scripture, and left me ruined and unfinished.

A burning heat rushes to my thigh, and I jump.

Another ping.

Photo.

It's from a security feed.

Me, earlier this morning—cigarette in hand, hair down to my back, and naked.

Naked?

The phone feels like a heavy stone in my palms, and I shift in my seat.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

My eyes wander to the rearview mirror, meeting the gaze of my driver.

"Do you have a f*****g death wish?"

"Sorry, ma'am."

Looking away from him, my eyes snap back to my phone screen.

A naked picture of me stares right back at me.

It's not a bad picture. I looked gorgeous and sexy as hell.

But it's intimate in the worst way.

Andrey f*****g sees me.

And then, one last message:

"Cat got your tongue, Malyshka? I know you can see my messages, or do you wish it were my tongue on your kitty instead?"

Without thinking, I fling the phone out of the window.