“Were Ivan and your mother?—”
“I don’t know. Renée wanted more from Ivan. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
Damn, I felt a soap opera coming. The Zahkarovs and Kings were a messier affair than I thought.
“Because without Bruce, you have no one else to turn to?”
“Don’t try your condescending words on me. I could be a very rich woman, but I want nothing to do with King Industries. Shame I couldn’t turn over my shares to charity.”
“The trust,” I said slowly. “You know the conditions in it?”
“Of course!” Chloe said. “Bruce has been trying to get me to come forward and take control of them.” Agony slashed across her face. “Did he really kill himself? Or was he murdered?”
“Why would anyone murder him?”
“He’s the executor. I would suspect Kirill did it.”
My stomach clenched. “What would Kirill get out of it?”
“You have no idea how sick and fucked up the Zahkarov and King games go, do you? With Bruce dead, Ivan is the secondary executor of the trust, but there are safety clauses to protect the Kings and the Zahkarovs. One. The shares could never be sold or given to charity. And two, and I think this was all Ivan pushing this, and don’t ask me what he has over Duncan—there will be a marriage between a King and a Zahkarov?—”
My hearing went in and out, and I grew lightheaded. Oh my God.
“I was surprised that Kirill married you—are you okay?”
I’d gotten up, and the apple pie I'd just consumed threatened to reappear. All the blood escaped my head, and I sat down again.
“I’m not sure,” I whispered.
“Are you crying?”
Indeed, my cheeks were wet. “I think my husband is planning to kill me so he can marry you.” And that was why Anya washiding the trust from the Kings. But that would mean Ivan had a copy of it too. That wily old bastard played me!
Chloe closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were like ice chips. “I’ll never marry into the bratva.” She gripped my shoulders to give me a light shake. “Listen, if you help me get a new identity, I’ll leave. I don’t care to be a King.”
“I’ll help you,” I said feebly. “Do you want company?”
Chloe laughed. I joined her, but mine was more the hollow kind. The kind where all you could do was laugh because the alternative was to cry. Being married to Kirill was like a roller coaster, and I was ready to get off.
Something chimed.
Chloe grabbed her phone. “That’s my outdoor alarm. Neighbors usually take a last walk with their dog, and a coyote has been coming?—”
Her words cut off as her eyes flew to the front door just as it splintered and was thrown open.
My husband, tall, foreboding, and dressed in black, darkened the threshold.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” Kirill said in a chillingly calm manner, like he hadn’t just dramatically stormed in. “But I’m here for my wife.”
“Which one?” I challenged.
“What are you talking about?” Genuine bafflement etched his features, but all my burning anger of the past two hours plus finding out the reason my husband was going to kill me surged in a wave of bravado and tears. I rushed to my purse and pulled out my .38 and pointed it at him.
Kirill’s eyes darted between me and Chloe. For all her spunk earlier, Chloe stood frozen. Kirill had that effect on people, but I had built up enough resistance and powered through it.
“Now, now, can we talk about this?” He took a decisive step forward.
“Do not come closer, Kirill!” I shouted.
