Leonid's cold, gray eyes---the ones I inherited, but with hardly an ounce of the life in them---assess her from head to toe. He waltzes toward us with the measured steps of a predator. His cane tip scrapes over the flagstones. Nails on a chalkboard. Not an accident.
"My dear, I wouldn't have missed this for the world. And please, call me Father."
Nova's fingers curl into fists at her sides. "I reserve that title for those who've earned it."
The other oligarchs at the table shift uncomfortably. My muscles coil, ready to intervene, but Nova continues with perfect poise.
"Your place is set at the far end." She gestures to the opposite end of the table from where we sit. "I'm told you prefer distance from family gatherings."
Fuck. Even I feel the sting of that one.
My father's lips twitc
