The door swung inward, revealing the man who was both the center of my world and the source of all my deepest fears. Giovanni Romano. My father. His eyes, the exact shade of olive green as my own, widened first in confusion, then in shock. He was staring past me, his gaze fixed on Vladimir, his jaw clenched in a silent, terrifying warning.

“Papa?” I whispered, the word a small, broken thing in the charged silence.

His gaze snapped back to me, but his eyes were still on Vladimir. ...