“Jesus Christ—” Papa pushes back on the table, his chair rolling backward slightly. “Well, that makes sense why they tried blowing up this spot. Jeremy and I, we will fix this. Ruby, what else have you been doing since?”

“Yeah, Ruby?” Wicked’s muscles on the side of his jaw tense. “Who else? Russians too?”

I smile cruelly at him. “And how did Wicked know this? You literally only just met him when he was young. After he offed his daddy dearest—if that was even real.” Wicked chuckles from his spot and the hairs on the back of my neck stand. I don’t pay him any attention. “How? How could he know?”

Papa’s cheeks widen, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that I know the next thing he says is not going to be something I like. “Bubba, Wicked is the Cosa Nostra.”

Turning my head to face Wicked again, I ignore the silence that vibrates around the table. There’s a shadow of doubt that hovers over the room. Maybe it’s because I just found out Papa has been lying to us so now I don’t trust him, or maybe it’s something else. But right now, I feel it in my gut. They’re hiding information from me.

“Want to tell me why?”

Wicked smirks, flashing his perfect dimple that reminds me of Wolf. “Victor picking up Poppy and me that night wasn’t a rescue, Ruby.” His fingers wrap around a cigar that’s lying in front of him. “It was a retrieval.”

“Hmmm.” I turn back to Papa. “What family? And if you say ours, I’ll kill you both.”

Papa’s eyes widen slightly before he leans back in his chair. “No, Ruby. My grandson isn’t the product of incest. Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes out. “The Amante family.”

I pale, fear grazing its sharp talons down the base of my heart. “Amante?” Everyone knows about the Amante family. A tragic tale of love being in the wrong hands. “The Lost Family?”

Papa nods his head slowly. “Aiy, Bubba.” He turns and I follow his eyes to Wicked.

“I didn’t know they had a kid.”

Wicked grins so wide he flashes his straight white teeth. It’s the first time that I’ve noticed the mafia in him. It never made sense, why Papa would make him a made man. It went against all of the rules and commandments.

“So why are you here? Playing biker?” I ask, running my palms down my thighs. Does he remember what happened to his family? Probably not. I read one time that trauma tends to drown out memories.