Page 57 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

"That's my father." Emory launches off the desk and grabs for her clothes on the floor. "Why is he here! You just made this deal with me and?—"

"Get dressed and go to Aleksandr's room. Stay there until I come for you." I don't have time for her being petty. What's done is done and she's agreed to stay with me. I flick my wrist and she growls at me as she snaps her bra in place.

"You promised me he wouldn't be hurt. You gave me your word." She pulls her shirt over her head and yanks her pants up, but her hands shake so badly she can't get the button through. "What sick game are you playing?"

"I told you I have to deal with him. But you can't be in this room when they bring him in. Get dressed and go." My tone is stern as I glare at her, but she doesn't seem to get the point. I want her out and I am not taking no for an answer.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's happening to him." Emory is so stubborn it makes me rethink wanting her around permanently.

But if she's going to dig her heels in and ruin this, I'm going to have to do things the hard way. I walk over to the door and open it, glancing out at the guard tasked with following her. Krispin looks up at me ready for orders.

"Take her to the boy's room. Keep her there. I don't want to hear a peep out of her either."

Krispin steps past me and reaches for Emory's arm, but she rips it away from him.

"Don't touch me. Rashid, tell him to keep his hands off me." It's comical that she thinks I'm going to change my mind. I can see how frantic she is, probably terrified I'm going to hurt the old man, but I gave my word. I'm not fond of it, but once it's given I don't go back on it.

"Go with him, Emory. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you're going to do to my father."

Krispin grabs her arm again harder and she shoves at his chest.

But he outweighs her by a hundred kilos; there's no way she's getting away from him.

He drags her toward the door as she digs her heels into the carpet trying to resist.

"Get off me! Rashid, you son of a bitch, you promised me!"

I suck in a breath and adjust my slacks, smoothing the creases and straightening the fly.

Emory's voice fades down the hallway the farther away she gets. Mr. Rostov is going to tell me what he knows and I'm going to make sure I get every ounce of information he's got.

Gusev has been at my throat for years; the fact that he has suddenly been able to make effective strikes against me is infuriating.

I'm getting to the bottom of how Rostov got this information and I'm doing it today.

Devid and two of my men drag the old man into my study and leave him crumpled on the carpet between them. His lip is split and bleeds down his chin, dripping to my rug. And he looks weak and tired, maybe hungover. It's apparent he's aging in a very unhealthy manner.

"He put up a fight at the hostel," Devid says. "Took a swing at Mikhail."

"Get him in a chair," I grumble, already eyeing the bloodstain Marta will have to wash out. She's not fond of cleaning up after wet work, so I try to keep it out of the house.

Devid hauls him up by the back of his coat and drops him into the armchair near the window. Oleg slumps forward and presses a sleeve against his mouth, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes that can barely focus.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask him coldly. Not surprised at his answer.

He nods. "Krasnov." The old man's voice is hoarse, maybe from screaming. I'm not going to ask my men how it got that way.

"Good. Then tell me how you got my shipping routes and who you gave them to." For now I'm calm, thanks to Emory and that incredible sex. My body is still rippling with the aftereffects. I walk over and plant my hands on the armrests of his chair, leaning over him.

"I worked at the port," he says, shrugging before he wipes the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. "I had access to the cargo manifests and the scheduling logs. I knew which trucks were yours because your men used the same rotation every month." It's believable but not entirely true. We switched patterns and our shipments didn't come from the ports. We're moving product through Afghanistan, and he fucking knows it.

"You’re lying to me," I say calmly, knowing damn well I can't hurt the man. My word is my reputation; if I break it, no one will ever trust me again.

Oleg trembles, and as if nothing is beneath him his bottom lip quivers and his eyes well up. "Please, my daughter..." He reaches for me as if I can offer some comfort, but he doesn't realize I'm his enemy, not his savior.

"Where did you get the information," I hiss, leaning back from his touch.