“Maddie Corbyn married one of the Griffins last year,” he continues. He sounds exhausted too, although battle-weary might be a better description. “Corbyn House became surplus to their requirements.”
“The Griffins?”
“Four brothers. Self-made billionaires. Their base is here in Chicago, but their varied business interests are spread far and wide. They deliberately keep out of the limelight, so you won’t have heard of them.”
“You keep out of the limelight too,” I note. I’d finally had the courage to Google Duke and Katarina last night. “Your engagement barely gets a mention on the internet in spite of all the press interest.”
“I have friends who can suppress sensitive information.”
“Friends like the Griffins?” I guess. He nods. “It doesn’t sound legal.”
“It isn’t.”
Working on Corbyn House is suddenly less appealing. “Are you saying the Griffins are criminals?”
“They’re good people,” Duke corrects, but thenshrugs. “Mostof the time. Some might describe them as morally grey.”
I can see now why he wanted me to sign the NDA. Being associated with criminal activity would be hugely detrimental to the Moncrief brand and could wipe billions of dollars off their share value. “And these Griffins are your friends?”
Duke flattens his lips, holding back his words while he considers how much to share. “They help us out occasionally and we do favors for them in return.” He picks up his coffee and stares into the dark liquid. “Katarina is one of those favors. And for the record, she’s neither poor nor naïve.”
I sit a little straighter. With everything that’s happened, there’s one small detail I’d completely forgotten. “She’s Russian, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” He holds my gaze as he picks up the NDA and slides it over to me. “You need to sign this.”
I should argue, or at the very least read the small print, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s reaching for the agreement at the first mention of Katarina being Russian.
I don’t know if this will guarantee I get the answers I need, but I’m absolutely certain Duke’s going to remain stubbornly silent if I don’t. In truth, I don’t care what the agreement threatens. If and when I walk away, I won’t want to talk about what nearly happened between us. If I could, I’d expunge every memory I’ve savored of Duke over the last year.
As if conjuring those thoughts, memories flit across my mind that make my thighs clench. Fine, I’m a big, fat liar. There are some things Duke did to me that I’d relive over and over, and in one instance, I have the soundtrack to get me there faster. I’d shown great restraint last night by notlistening to the recording, but my willpower won’t hold out indefinitely.
When I pick up the document, Duke offers me the pen from his breast pocket. I go to take it, but he holds on to it, prolonging the connection between us. The ice in his eyes has begun to thaw. So have my insides.
No. Not happening. I snatch the pen and scribble my signature next to the tab Ed had inserted. I slide the pages back to Duke without reading a single line.
“You were telling me about Katarina.”
He remains stony-faced, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Was I?”
I fold my arms across my chest and scowl. Fine, if he won’t offer the information without prompting, I’m just going to fire off more questions. I start with the one I’m almost too afraid to ask. “Does Katarina have something to do with organized crime?”
“Yes.”
My throat constricts and it hurts to swallow. “You’re seriously considering marrying into a crime family?” Sweat trickles down my back and I pull at the roll neck of my too-thick sweater.
“No.”
Another one-word answer. I should have just kept yelling at him. “You’re just pretending?” I get a nod this time. “Until when?”
“One way or another, this is going to be resolved in the next six weeks.”
“One way or another?” I repeat. “And would one way be marrying her?”
“No, Grace. I’d rather face a slow, painful death than that,” he says quickly. He shakes his head and sighs. “Either the Griffins will fake Katarina’s death so she candisappear to somewhere the Bratva can’t find her, or her uncle gets impatient and drags her back to Russia.”
“The Bratva?”
“Russian mafia. The Pakhan, or leader of this family, is Katarina’s uncle. Vasili Barkov.”
