The door closes, Kira’s footsteps recede hurriedly down the hallway.
“Fiona.”
I slap the photograph on the table in front of him, biting down a wince from the pain that radiates up my bleeding finger. “Why did you need to make an alliance with my father?” I demand, glaring at him.
Dmitri sighs, running a hand through his hair and momentarily shutting his eyes. “It’s… complicated.”
“Answer the question, Dmitri.” I grind my teeth, muscles tense, my pulse thundering in my ears.
He opens his eyes, gestures calmly to the chair directly opposite his. “Sit down, you’re bleeding.” His gaze darts to my finger, to the photograph, then to my face.
I stubbornly refuse to sit for a few more seconds, but then the rational part of my brain overtakes my stubbornness. I’m almost shaky with anger, and
