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I slide into his line of sight and shake my head. “You wouldn’t have come here without all this backup. You thought they were going to rush in to save you.You thought you were safe.”
“My father will start a w-war over this,” he stammers. “You’ll lose more than it’s worth.”
“More thanwhatis worth?” I ask. “More thanyou’reworth? Definitely. You aren’t worth the breath I’m spending explaining myself. But if you mean that I’ll lose more than killing you is worth… Well, I have to disagree. Because killing you is going to be fuckingpriceless.”
I press my gun to his temple. He flinches away. Tears well in his eyes and sweat beads on his forehead. He’s shaking from head to toe like the spineless coward he is and always has been.
“Tell me you’re sorry, Mikhail.”
He looks up at me quickly, a spark of hope in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ivan. I shouldn’t have come. I’m—”
I shake my head. “No. Tell me you’re sorry for what you did to Cora. Apologize for everything you did to her.”
He hesitates for only a second before the press of my muzzle to his skin reminds him what is at stake.
“I’m sorry I forced her into marriage. I’m sorry I kidnapped her and held her hostage. I’m sorry I kept her from you. I’m sorry I—I’m sorry for everything. I… I don’t know what else to say.”
“That’s enough. That’s more than enough.” I let go of his shirt and he sags against the wall in obvious relief. “I’ll tell Cora those were your last words.”
I let that sit for half a second. Just long enough for Mikhail to understand what is happening.
Then I shoot the motherfucker in the head.
59
CORA
“Maybe I should sit at the head.” I stand back and try to imagine the place setting there. “Do you think it would be too formal to have the whole length of the table between us?”
Niles has endured an hour of my fidgeting and fussing already, so the poor man just shrugs. “Whatever you decide will be fine.”
That’s nice and all, but I’ve never doubted my own decisions more than I have today. Gold or silver cutlery? Should I wear a pantsuit or a dress? Full face of makeup or keep it minimal?
“Your dad doesn’t care about any of that,” Ivan told me this morning before he climbed out of bed. “He is just excited to sit down and get to know you. So let him see you. Be yourself.”
The trouble is, I don’t know who I am.
A month ago, I was a waitress at a cheap Mexican restaurant. I lived in a dinky one-bedroom apartment and spent my limited free time watching reality television until my eyes bled.
Then I was a target, bait, Ivan Pushkin’s fake fiancée, Mikhail Sokolov’s forced fiancée (again), and now… Now, I’m building a life with the man I love. I know how to move forward with Ivan. I know how to leave Alexander and my mother and Mikhail and Francia behind me.
What I don’t have a single fucking clue how to do is merge my past and my present.
My dadwasfirmly in my past. Where does he fit in now?
My thoughts are spiraling out of control when Niles lays his hands on my shoulders. “If you want my honest opinion, Mrs. Cora, I think you two should take your dinner at the kitchen island.”
“What?” I spin away from the table and face Niles. He’s only a foot away, which is the closest we’ve ever been. He’s always struck me as a rich, formal grandpa. You know he loves you, but he isn’t going to say it. “But you spent so much time getting the dining room ready!”
“I did. And then you spent twice as much time moving it all around and rearranging.”
I drop my face into my hands. “Ugh. I’m sorry. I’m being the worst. You worked so hard and I undid all of it. You’re better at this than I am. I should have just left it the way you had it. Maybe I can move it back and—”
I’m already halfway turned around when Niles stops me. “No.”
I blink at him, too stunned and frazzled to find any words.
“You need to take a deep breath, dear.”
