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She gives me a long stare like she’s hunting for double meanings or traps. Finally she says, “All right. I’ll take you with me if you really can accept that I’m Dad’s heir and not you.”
“Zenya Belyaev has my utmost devotion and loyalty,” I murmur with a charming smile.
When the meeting is over, Zenya and Mikhail leave, but I hang back to talk to my brother.
Drawing over to his bedside, I ask him, “Did you know that men have been harassing Zenya behind your back? I left her alone in Adamovich’s club for three seconds and some worthless piece of shit was trying to steal a kiss. I had to teach him some manners.”
Troian passes a tired hand over his face and his expression is agonized. “I didn’t know that. I hoped I still inspired enough fear in this city that men would leave her alone. I’m so grateful you’re back. Protect her, Kristian. Don’t let anyone hurt her.”
“Oh, I will,” I say through gritted teeth. No one’s getting close enough to hurt my girl.
Troian’s grateful to me, sure. But is he sorry?
I wait in silence, wondering if he’s going to bring up what happened two years ago. He needs to be the one to tell her because I can’t. She’ll rain down hell on her father’s head if I speak up, and that falls under the category of me upsetting Troian, something I swore I wouldn’t do. Zenya needs to understand that I’m a man of my word.
But Troian can say something to her. In fact, Troian should be the one who comes clean with or without me swearing an oath. It’s bullshit he hasn’t told her the truth after all this time.
The words burst from my lips despite me telling myself I should shut the fuck up. “When are you going to tell your daughter the real reason I stayed away for two years? She thinks I was worried about you sending an assassin after me.”
Troian glowers at me. “Does that hurt your manly pride?”
Yes, of course it does. I’m a proud man, but that’s only a small part of it. My lip curls in a sneer. “Zenya should know the truth.”
He sighs wearily. “Then you tell her if it matters to you so much.”
“So I’m to be the villain again? Why must it always be me and never you?”
He looks away from me and glares out the window. “I was protecting my family from you. She was my only means to keep you away from us.”
“But now that it’s convenient for you, you want me around.”
“If you don’t like it, you can leave. I’ll hire bodyguards for Zenya to keep her safe.”
“Fuck that,” I growl. As if bodyguards could give Zenya the protection and devotion that I can give her.
I wait for a full minute, but Troian doesn’t apologize for anything. Fine. The truth will come out eventually because I’ll force it out. He’ll have to confess what he did when my baby starts to show in her belly and it’s too late for any more secrets.
I head for the door, but Troian calls my name in a shaky voice, and I turn back to him.
He entreats me with watery eyes. “Please, Kristian. Make sure she is safe. If anyone hurts her, I won’t…I can’t…” His throat locks up with the devastating thought that he might lose her.
No one’s hurting Zenya, but I’m still going to take her and make her all mine, and there’s nothing my brother can do to stop me.
I crack the knuckles on my right hand. “You don’t have to ask. No one’s getting near my girl while I’m around, or they’ll pay for it with their lives.”
* * *
Three days later,I’m standing on the front doorstep of the Belyaev mansion, ringing the bell dressed in a new black suit and shiny loafers, ready for Yuri Golubev’s birthday party. I wore a black shirt but didn’t bother with a tie. I hate ties. I didn’t embark on a life of crime just so I could dress like a Wall Street numbskull.
I’ve combed my hair back from my face, but as usual, the front locks keep falling over my forehead. With any luck, it will entice Zenya to push them back as she always used to do, tilting her lips up to mine like she’s begging for a kiss.
I still haven’t had a real kiss from her, a thought that makes my heel tap restlessly on the step as I wait. That brief press of my lips to hers two years ago didn’t count. Last week in her kitchen wasn’t even close to what I crave. I hope she’s wearing red lipstick tonight because I want it smeared all over my mouth by midnight.
When the front door opens, I’m adjusting the silver rings on my pinkie fingers and my heel stops tapping as I stare at her. I give a low whistle as I draw my gaze up Zenya’s body, from the red stilettoes on her feet to her bare, smooth legs, the short red camisole dress with feathers around the hem, and then finally, her beautiful face and long, loose hair.
“You look fucking stunning,” I breathe.
“Hello to you, too,” she says coolly, and turns away and goes to the hall mirror where she picks up a lipstick and reapplies it.
