“I’ve been making rounds today,” he continues smoothly. “Talking to people. As boss, I need to stay informed, especially when it concerns my own… personal interests.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“You’re admired. That’s quite a change from when people questioned your authority.” His eyes gleam. “You know, being my bastard and all. Your name comes up often these days. Interestingly enough, someone mentioned seeing you at my brothel the night the girl disappeared.”
Now I have to react.
“Yeah? Did this person also see me talking to the whore that disappeared? Did they see me take her?”
“You don’t deny being there?”
“I wasn’t there.” I shrug. “You won’t believe me, so it doesn’t matter if I deny it or not. I’m starting to think you want it to be me who took this girl.”
His bodyguards step closer. My father holds up a hand, stopping them. “What I want is to see you on your knees begging for your life.” His lips curl. “Unfortunately, you’ve made yourself too valuable. I’m not interested in shaking up the organization. Not when my decisions are already being questioned by even my own councilor.”
“And yet you’re still chasing a whore.”
His eyes burn. “We both know I’m not searching for a whore.” He lets out a nasty laugh. “You’re my son, and I fucking hate you, but I know you’re no fool. No. You’re like me.” He leans closer. “Only worse.”
I don’t move.
“I’ve watched you since you were a teenager,” he snarls. “Letting grown men, some of my best men, walk themselves into graves while you watched, studying their mistakes so you wouldn’t make them. Learning who could be bought. Who needed to disappear.” His voice drops to a deadly whisper. “That’s when you became a problem.”
“If I’m such a problem,” I ask calmly, “why didn’t you kill me years ago?”
He sneers. “I like nice things.” His gaze drags over the warehouse. “Ease up on your tribute, and you might find yourself digging your own grave before thirty.”
I say nothing. That’s the only way to deal with him. He needs the last word.
A smug smile tears across his lips. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
Anton rushes to open the door. The Pakhan pushes past his bodyguards, both of them sneering at me like they have a personal problem with me.
The moment the door closes, everyone scrambles back into position. Anton walks over, whistling low. “That was?—”
I lift a brow, giving him that look. Wrong fucking time. He shuts up right away. “I guess crates pack themselves now.”
I shove one of the crates with my foot, sending it skidding across the concrete. “You heard the Pakhan. My life depends on how fast you pack those crates. So move. Better not let me die.”
I walk past them and out the door. I take a deep breath. One more day. Less than that even. I’ve waited years for this, a few more hours is nothing.
I show my face at a couple of other places before stopping at Lev’s. I don’t stay long, just long enough to get the papers, and give my approval. Nala is now Layla Thompson, aged upto nineteen and complete with a birth certificate from the state of Hawaii.
I head back to the cottage and step inside. Just like at the apartment, Nala is waiting for me in the living room. She drops her book and comes to me on her tiptoes, waiting for a kiss. I lower my head, taking her lips between mine. When I pull back, I catch a familiar scent drifting from the kitchen.
She grins sheepishly. “I’m giving it another try. This time it won’t be like soup.”
“If it is?”
She taps a finger to her lips, pretending to think. “Then you can punish me?”
“You’d sabotage the food on purpose.”
She laughs. “I would never.”
I lift her off the floor and she locks her legs around me. “You would. Because you know I’d make you scream while doing it.”
Her features soften, heat flashing in her eyes. She threads her fingers into my hair, crushing her lips over mine. I’m done for. I don’t know how she does it but when I’m with her, everything, all the crap with my father, Bratva, everything fades. All I can see is her.
