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Dad was there? I don’t remember him being there. I never did, not even when he “helped” me remember for the court. Tolya was there. So was Uncle Mike.
But…
Who kidnapped me?
“It was you.” I’ve stopped shaking. Now, I’m just numb. “You were the one who kidnapped me.”
“Better me than some stranger. Someactualkidnapper.”
Dad is trying to play this whole revelation off like it makes the most sense out of all his insanity. He smiles at me, and even has the balls to reach over and pat my hand.
“You were always safe, Clar-bear. I just needed it to look like a kidnapping so Mike would show up at the warehouse?—”
“So you could kill him.”
He nods. “I called him, told him I saw you get stuffed in a trunk and followed you to the warehouse. You were supposed to stay asleep through it all and wake up safe at home in your bed. All I needed was for Mike to show up so I could shoot him, plant enough evidence to lead the kidnapping his way, and take you home.”
I swallow back the bile creeping up my throat. “But Tolya was there. He tried to save me.”
Dad barks out a laugh. “Imagine that! A Zakrevsky, playing hero! I told you, he was out of control. Didn’t know when to keep his nose out of other people’s business. He tried tackling me and saving Mike, too, but man, does that kid have the worst luck.”
“He didn’t shoot Michael Little, did he?”
“Not intentionally. Gun went off in our hands. Scared him shitless, too. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed that was his first kill.”
“So…” I close my eyes and try to breathe through the nausea. “You let him take the fall.”
Dad sobers up a bit and returns to staring at whatever on the wall. “I did what I had to do. The collapse of the Zakrevskyempire would’ve meant the rise for so many others. New blood, new partnerships. New government in the streets. His kid brother was too young and Oleg… well, that man had his own problems.”
That’s the only spark of joy I feel right now: the knowledge that Dad’s best-laid plans ended up opening the doors for Demyen. My Demyen, who defied everyone and everything and now stands as a constant reminder of just how badly Dad fucked up.
I turn my attention back to my father.
“So… did you at least get what you wanted? Your ‘new blood’ and ‘new partnerships’?”
I ask it like I’m proud of him. Like I hope he did.
Dad considers me for a long, silent moment. My heart slams inside my ribcage.
“I did,” he finally says. “And now, I’m here, drinking his champagne and helping him sell his merchandise.”
That puzzles me. “But I thought you hated Demyen?”
He snorts. “Not Demyen, honey. Raizo. Raizo Watanabe. Yakuza. That’s who I work for.”
29
DEMYEN
Among the thousand other things I hate about Raizo is the fact that he loves the sound of his own voice.
I’ve been in the hotel suite-turned-office way too long. All he wanted to talk about was the evening’s transactions so far, criticize my waitstaff, and remind me of how wealthy Clara’s sale is going to make me.
It’s all I could do not to spit in his face and tell him to go fuck himself. I don’t need wealth—I already have plenty of that.
What I also don’t need is a bloodbath in my hotel, which would undoubtedly happen if I told Raizo the truth: there’s not going to be an auction for Clara. I don’t care how many private bidders are willing to pony up every last dollar in their pocket.
Clara Everett is no longer for sale.
