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Lyla glances between us, not understanding the rapid flurry of Russian.
I sigh. “I have to take a phone call.”
“Now?” Her voice is incredulous.
“It’s important, Lyla.”
“This is a perfect example of why you should have stayed the hell away from us, Nick. You say you want to be a part of Leo’s life, but you can’t even spare ten minutes to have a conversation. What am I supposed to tell Leo when he asks me how long we’ll be here? Why we’re here?”
“You could start by telling him I’m his father.”
“You haven’t earned that title,” she snaps.
“I don’t have toearna goddamn thing. I’m his father, and all I’ve done since I found out he existed is protect him.”
“From yourself! From choices you made!”
My jaw works furiously as she stalks past Roman without another word. He’s trying valiantly to pretend like, despite being feet away, he didn’t catch a word of what was just said. Then, he follows her out of the office.
I pour another glass of vodka, then answer the phone.
“Morozov.” It’s how I typically answer the phone, but I add extra emphasis just to irk Dmitriy.
“Wouldn’t have guessed you have a thing for American girls, cousin.”
Any hope that Dmitriy is slipping evaporates. I know he pays spies around the city and he’d learn I was back. I knew there was a possibility he’d also find out I returned with company.
“Or for single moms.”
“What do you want, Dmitriy?” My fingers clench the glass with enough force, I could break it, but my voice is measured and cool.
I shouldn’t have taken his call. It’s only going to darken my mood.
“To congratulate you, of course,????. What do you think Igor would say if he knew his first grandchild was a half American bastard? Would he say anything? Or would he just kill the boy and force you to fuck a Russian?”
“I don’t waste time thinking about the dead,” I lie.
Truthfully, I know Dmitriy is probably right. My father would have authorized hunting down Leo and Lyla and put bullets in their heads. Would have seen them not as people, not as family, but as stains on the Morozov reputation. As liabilities. As threats.
I would do anything to have my brothers back, not the least because it would take the pressure off me. But most of the time, I’m fucking relieved my father is dead. For many small reasons—and this big one.
I can feel Dmitriy’s irritation through the phone. He was obviously hoping the mention of my father would hit harder. But I’ve always been better at schooling my emotions than he is. One of ourmanydifferences.
“You have weaknesses now, Nikolaj,” he tells me. “We both know what will happen if you don’t claim this child. And we both know that doing so will have consequences. Pavel might be incompetent, but he’s no idiot. A firstborn Popov was part of the deal you struck.”
“A deal you have no role in,” I remind him.
“For now. He might reconsider.”
“He won’t,” I reply. “You fucked up, cousin. And the worst part is, you know you did. Don’t you? The money you stole is drying up. The men you made promises to haven’t seen a promotion. You bet on a losing horse because your damn pride couldn’t accept I was first in line.”
“It has nothing to do withpride.” Dmitriy spits the last word. “You’re too weak. Too soft for this life. And we both know it.”
“You’ll die for your betrayal, Dmitriy. It’s why you ran in the first place, after you fucked up a simple assassination. It could have been merciful. Quick. Not anymore.”
“He’s a handsome boy, Nikolaj,” Dmitriy taunts. “Looks a lot like his mother. She might be American, but at least she’s a hot piece of ass. The things I’ll do to it after shooting your son…” He clucks his tongue. Lets out a soulless, grating chuckle. If he ever had a soul, it’s long gone.
The fear that runs through me is crippling.
