Page 63 of The Wrong Monster

His expression goes cold.

“Careful.”

“No. You be careful.” I step closer, anger burning through the fear. There’s less than an inch of space between us, Vasily’s lean, hard chest brushing mine. “Maybe this is what happens when people get involved with organizations like the Bratva. Maybe it ruins lives.”

Something flashes across his face. Rage, or pain, both gone so quickly I might have imagined them.

“You know nothing about my life.”

“And you know nothing about mine.”

We stare at each other, neither willing to move. Then Vasily’s voice drops to a dangerous murmur.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to understand.”

But something clicks.

I told Vasily I’m no one.

Just the daughter of Ed and Helen. Just an attorney from New York with a complicated family history, that I have no interest in exploring.

Except that isn’t entirely true. There is my biological father. The man I have spent twenty-eight years deliberately refusing to investigate.

My stomach tightens.

Could this have something to do with him?

No. How could it?

I know his first name. Semiyon. Nothing that would tell me what he looks like now, where he is, or why a terrified boy would look at me and see him. He existed long enough to leave my mother with a daughter, then disappeared from both our lives.

There is no connection between him and me beyond biology.

At least, that’s what I’ve always believed.

I glance toward the closed bedroom door.

Kevin’s reaction flashes through my mind again. His face going white, his body scrambling away from me as though I were something terrifying. As though I were the monster in the room.

I shiver. It doesn’t make sense.

Unless somehow, somewhere, there is something about me that I don’t know.

“It was Yuri’s people.”

I blink, brought back to reality by Vasily’s low rumble.

“The same group that informed on Mikhail?”

“Yes.” His voice is controlled, but barely. He shifts us further away from the door, a hand on my waist, a zing of electricity shooting up my spine at the contact. It’s been days and even now, even being accused of something I don’t understand, I find myself wanting him.

“Kevin was working for me. He was giving us information about Yuri’s organization. Somehow, one of their men found out.”

I look toward the bedroom door. “Is he okay?”

“No,” Vasily answers shortly. “He has a broken arm, two fractured ribs. And I’m not sure about his mental state.” He shakes his head, a grimace on those bowed lips. “I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

Suddenly, my anger feels misplaced.