Page 29 of My Ex’s Dad

I still can’t claim to know everything about this spectacular woman my son let slip through his fumbling fingers. I know how sweet her pussy is and how loud her cries get when she comes. But I also know how stubbornly independent she is.

She isn’t like other young people her age, expecting an easy way through life. She isn’t waiting for a handout like Roman does.

As we ride back to the city, I can’t help imagining her reaction when she wakes and finds me gone, a driver left in my place to take her home. Then later, her car returned to her fully repaired, free of charge.

I suppose she can see it as a payment. The price of giving even a little bit of herself to me.

Two nights of a torrid tryst.

It sounds fair to me.

What’s not fair is how fast I realize distance alone isn’t enough to scrub her from my mind.

After Viktor and I get to my building, I can’t shake the memory of the shower with her. Later, while I wait to speak with one of the Roncellis’ men, I can’t stop replaying how she gasped and trembled under my touch.

All day long, she’s there. Her sexy voice, the sight of her soft, curvy body bare and ripe for the taking. I can’t forget about her, and by the time evening comes, I wonder how much longer I’ll be stuck in this loop of obsessing about her.

It’s only a direct call from Roman that finally breaks me out of thinking back on the short time I had with his ex.

“Look, it’s not my fault,” he says, calling to double-check that I’ve smoothed over the mess he made by running his mouth about an agreement my rivals were never supposed to hear about.

“How the fuck isn’t it?” I don’t yell. It’s a shock I can’t raise my voice at him. His sheer stupidity and crude ignorance incite me. My blood boils, but shouting at him won’t cause anything good. “How the fuck isn’t this your fault?” I’m not clear on how he can even think that. “You opened your mouth when you shouldn’t have.”

“But—”

“Did anyone threaten you into saying anything?” I bite out.

“Not, like, no⁠—”

“Did one of them put a motherfucking gun to your head and force you to say a single thing?”

“No. I mean, well⁠—”

“Then whose fault is this supposed to be?” I grit my teeth, noting the tension in my temples. It’s a familiar condition whenever I have to communicate with Roman.

“Yours.”

I turn my head, swiveling it like a robot, until I face Viktor. My assistant sits in the chair toward the right of my desk in my main office. With this call on speaker, he hears it all.

The subtle what-the-fuck surprise in his expression says it all.

“It’s your fault,” Roman says. “Because I’m your son. You know?”

I drag my hand over my face.

“Because I’m the Sokolov heir, people notice me and know how important I am. They know that I have information people would kill to get their hands on. So due to my connection to you, I’m automatically targeted.”

“Targeted?” I scoff. “The hell you are. You don’t have any actual responsibilities to do anything.”

“That’s not true,” he protests.

“Yes, it fucking is. Your inability to keep your mouth shut when it comes to intel that you weren’t ever supposed to have in the first place proves why I can’t trust you at all. Ever.”

I’m fucked.

“Yeah, well, I can’t trust you either.”

“Earn my fucking trust, you worthless punk,” I growl.