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“She’s recovering,” he answered the younger man. “No thanks to any of you.” He turned back to the father. “Want to explain to me what the hell happened?”
“It was my fault, Mr. Mackay.” Bran stepped forward, his shoulders back, his jaw clenched. “When Viktor found me at the marina we argued in the parking lot. He thought I should return to Russia with him and force Father to reinstate him into the family. We were arguing in Russian, but Bliss heard us.” He pushed his fingers through his longer blond hair in frustration, a grimace twisting his expression. “When I assured him she didn’t speak Russian and that she would tell no one of our meeting, he . . .” Bran frowned, his jaw working for a moment. “Bliss is a good kid.” He stared back at Natches somberly. “A nice girl. But Viktor thought there was more when there wasn’t.” He grimaced again, his lips thinning for a moment. “He tried to kidnap her, thinking he could force me to do as he wanted. When my uncle and cousin were killed at the house where they thought she’d been taken, he didn’t care if she could be used against me or not. For him and Ilya, it became vengeance then.”
Bran was clearly more than a little upset over what had happened. Guilt filled his face, his dark eyes.
“If we had known this was happening, we would have come at once,” Grecia assured Natches gravely. “But when Bran told Lucas that Viktor had found him, Lucas took him away for a while until we could decide our best course of action. Lucas only heard of the problems with my family when your wife . . .” He swallowed tightly, anger and regret twisting his features. “When your wife was shot.”
Solange touched her husband’s arm gently, her saddened expression as sincere as Grecia’s and Bran’s anger.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Mackay,” Bran said, taking the heaviest portion of responsibility onto his own shoulders. “And I would hope you would tell Bliss how very sorry I am that this has happened to your family. She was kind to me when I had no friends. And I appreciate that sincerely.”
Angel turned to Natches when he didn’t speak. He was staring at Bran, his features hard, his expression revealing very little. The young man didn’t flinch beneath his gaze, but there was no doubt he was distinctly uncomfortable and felt responsible for the pain his older brother had caused.
Taking his eyes from Bran, Natches turned to Grecia. “Thank you for coming here, Mr. Davinov,” he said quietly. “And thank you for letting us know why we suddenly had Russians targeting our family.”
Solange’s gaze met Angel’s then, worry filling the gray depths as the tension began growing between the two men.
“I am glad, Angel, you have found your parents once again,” she stated, her sincerity and the pain she felt evident in her expression as well as her voice. “I can see now where you inherited much of your strength and daring, yes? Your poppa has an overabundance, does he not?”
Angel snorted at that but couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride that the other woman believed Natches was actually her father.
“They call it balls around here.” She shot Natches then Duke a teasing look.
“Yes, we call it such as well, but I do so like remaining polite when my attempt to make amends for the wrongs of others is ignored. Do you not find it a balm to your pride when you do so?” she asked, clearly hurt that Natches had remained so cool in the face of their apologies.
“It’s not the actions of others that keep him silent,” she sighed, restraining a spurt of amusement. “It’s the fear his daughter’s actually become a teenager. It terrifies him.”
Solange flicked him a suddenly understanding look before glancing at her stepson. “Ah, I see. Yes, we have this problem as well with my Aleda, do we not, Grecia?”
Her daughter frowned at her as a flush brightened her pretty features.
“Often,” Grecia sighed. “I warned her there are many convents in Paris.”
Natches seemed to perk up at the comment.
“Think it would work?” he asked the other man.
Grecia shook his head, a long-suffering look of frustration crossing his face. “I fear it would not. She assures me even convents can burn to the ground.”
Solange’s smile was gentle, though still heavy with sadness. “We have much in common, Mr. Mackay, and, I would daresay, much we need to speak of to repair the damage caused. Let us do so as friends, yes?”
Natches gave a heavy sigh before leveling a hard look on Bran. “Don’t flirt with my daughter.”
Bran merely stared back at him, his expression becoming chillingly polite despite the heavy frown that began to crease Natches’s brow.
“Is he deaf?” he growled then.
“He is a young man.” Grecia shrugged as though that explained it all. “He does not take orders well.”
“I have a rifle.” Natches bared his teeth. “And I know how to use it.”
Bran turned to his father. “I will be leaving now, Father,” he stated clearly. “I’ll wait in the limo.”
He walked away, as proud and as arrogant as any Mackay had ever been.
“Dammit,” Natches muttered, watching him leave. “Knew I should have checked out those convents for real. . . .”
