The afternoon sun was beginning to dip when Czar’s private line buzzed. It was a frequency reserved only for one person—the woman who held the other half of the Mordrake legacy and the weight of his upbringing.
He answered, his voice tight. "Mother."
"Alexander," Helena’s voice was as smooth and cold as polished marble. "Your performance at the gala was... disappointing. Your blatant disrespect toward the Pricilla has created a rift in the merger discussions. A rift I’ve spent the morning repairing."
Czar leaned back in his leather chair, his jaw tensing. "I was clear with Miss Rossi. I have no interest in entertaining her."
"And I am being clear with you," Helena snapped, her tone shifting from regal to commanding. "I am your mother, and I will not have the Mordrake name dragged thro
