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Harvey took out his phone to type. “That…that would be a good starting point.”
You dumb, clueless turd.
“Except I wasn’t born and raised in Moscow. I was born right here in California.”
He looked up from his phone. “But, according to your birth certificate…”
“Anything can be forged, you fuck,” I said, losing my Russian accent. “When powerful men want to rewrite their history, they can make anything happen. Even turn a loving mother into a whore, making her put her pimp’s name on a birth certificate instead of her illegitimate child’s American father.”
Harvey’s eyes widened when I pulled a gun on him. I ignored Jocelyn’s gasp.
“Oh, God.” Harvey stumbled backwards. His head hit the wall. “I won’t tell anyone about what happened here tonight. I swear!”
No, he wouldn’t indeed. “You don’t know this yet, but I am doing you a favor,suka. If you knew what Detta had planned for Bianchi, you would beg me to make it quick.”
“Please don’t shoot me!” Harvey started sobbing.
If I had any heart left, I’d pity him. “I would tell you that cigarettes kill, but that stick in your mouth isn’t going to be the thing that does you in.” Not wasting any more time, I shot him in the face.
Blood splattered all over the wall behind where Harvey had stood.
I turned to Jocelyn Detta. “Now, what to do with you?” I supposed I should hand her over to her husband. I would finally be free of the debt I owed him.
Free. Freedom.
Images of Katya swirled through my head. Her words echoed through my mind.
I want to go out in the world, meet people, have a life. I want to have a freaking drink.
Perhaps Jocelyn Detta was the answer to my conundrum. Maybe she could take Katya under her wing and take her out. I was about to ask her when I noticed she’d passed out.
How aggravating.
4
KATYA
I took a long, hot shower after my egregious sparring session. Then I stomped back to my safe place—Kristoff’s study, which held an extensive library. This day hadn’t turned out the way I’d hoped. Not only did I not convince Kristoff to let me stay, but now I had to wash his damn cars. And he had many. It was time to meet my next book boyfriend. If I was leaving for a few days, I needed some reading material anyway.
I halted in my tracks when I entered the study. A stunning blonde woman sat in Kristoff’s chair. In her dark silk jumpsuit, she seemed a bit overdressed for daylight hours. Her Chanel No. 5 filled the room, as did her presence. When I spotted her Louboutins, I had a sense of déjà vu.This must be Svetlana, Kristoff’s ex. We had never formally met—the last time I was in her presence I was hiding beneath the desk she sat behind. I remembered the yearning in her voice when she told him she was going to marry another man. And she had. She’d married the asshole, Mikhail, who had assaulted me that same night.
I didn’t enjoy seeing her here. This was our place, Kristoff’s and mine.
A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose as she sized me up. She gave me a once-over and wrinkled her nose. For the first time since I’d started living here, I felt self-conscious about my ripped jeans and white halter top.
Why couldn’t I be wearing a gorgeous outfit with killer heels like she was?
Because you know he still won’t want you.
I wasn’t going to let her dismissive look get to me. In the grand scheme of things, she was in a worse position than I was. This poor woman was married to Mikhail. No amount of designer apparel or shoes could make up for that.
“Hi,” I greeted her.
When she said nothing back, I returned the favor. I pretended she wasn’t there and proceeded to scour the bookshelves for something to read. Kristoff was always trying to get me into the classics like theIliador theArt of War, but I found them to be too stuffy. My fingers trailed over the rough leather bindings.
When I grabbedAesop’s Fablesoff a shelf, Svetlana cleared her throat.
“Do you think it’s normal to take a book from your boss?”
