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“You will do nothing at all, Mr Dorokhov. You will turn around and leave this house. Outside my door, you will find several private security agents who will escort you from the premises and to whatever private airport you arrived from. You will leave the United Kingdom immediately, and ensure you do not return. Threatening a lord in his own home was most unwise, and I assure you that your return to this country would be considered a matter of national security.” My father steps forward, and Mr Dorokhov steps back. “And now, Mr Dorokhov, on a more personal note. Should you go anywhere near myself or one of mine—be it my own children or my future daughter-in-law—I will personally see to it that your presence is permanently removed from our lives.” A sudden smile brightens my father’s face. “Is that understood?”
For a moment, Mr Dorokhov says nothing. A black rage seethes from him, and his hand twitches near the lapel of his coat. I’m strangely calm, given how obvious it is that Mr Dorokhov carries a weapon on him.
Behind him, the door opens. My father’s private security agents wait outside the door, silent black shadows.
Mr Dorokhov turns brusquely and stomps to the door. Once he reaches the doorway, he stops, turns, and tells my father.
“Set foot in Russia, Blackwood, and you’ll be dead before you can blink.”
My father tilts his head. His smile broadens. “I see we understand one another. Goodbye, Mr Dorokhov.”
Chapter 45
Ugly Truth
Zachary
“Thatwasbyfarthe craziest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Zaro’s voice behind me startles me. I hadn’t even realised she was standing right there, my attention wholly absorbed by the black hole of Mr Dorokhov’s presence.
Our father has already turned around and is walking away back to the small lounge where he takes meetings or sits with our mother in their free time. I follow him, and Zaro follows me, hot on my steps.
“Did you mean it?” she asks our father. “You can’t actually get someone killed, can you?”
He stands in the doorway of his lounge and holds the door open, letting us through and closing the door after us. Our mother is out visiting friends, so it’s just the three of us in the room. The calm atmosphere is in stark contrast to the adrenaline still pounding through me.
Casting Zaro a disapproving look, my father says, “I didn’t say I would have him killed, Zahara. Simply removed.”
“You can do that?” Zahara’s voice is hushed as she drops herself down into one of the couches. “Just have someone removed?”
My father tilts his head and gives her a strange smile—mingled rue and satisfaction. “Of course. Why do you think I didn’t press charges on that predator at your school?”
Zahara’s mouth falls open. My father, calm as ever, stands at the small, glossy cabinet of his bar and pours three cognacs and hands us one each.
“You had Mr Perrinkilled?” Zahara explains, taking her glass absent-mindedly, her attention completely fixed on our father.
“Removed.” He shrugs and settles himself next to her on the couch. “He hurt my daughter, and I will never allow anybody to harm a hair on my children’s heads. He received precisely what he deserved, Zahara. He was not a good man.”
She stares at him, but he turns his attention to me. “Is Theodora here?”
I’m still standing in the middle of the room, the glass of cognac in my hands. The amber liquid splashes in the glass, and that’s when I realise my hands are shaking slightly.
“She’s not here.” I sit at the edge of an armchair.
“Where is she?” my father asks.
I ignore his question. “Why did you let Mr Dorokhov believe she was here?”
“So he would stop looking for her, naturally.” My father takes a sip of his drink. “Where is she, Zachary?”
“I don’t know.I don’t know.” I stare into my glass, the troubled surface of the alcohol as my hands shake uncontrollably. “I don’t know.”
“We need to find her. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
“She lives with her mother when she’s not in school—somewhere in Surrey—but that’s the first place her father would have looked. And she’s not in Spearcrest—he removed her from the school. She might be with one of her friends, I don’t know. Her phone—I’ve tried texting and calling her, but her phone isn’t working.”
“No doubt it’s in her father’s possession,” my father says in a thoughtful mutter. “Hm. Very well. I’m going to need you to give me her friends’ names—anybody you think she might have gone to for help. I’ll make some calls.” He stands, drains his glass and sets it down. “We’re going to find her, Zachary.”
