Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“Did Zak’s sample match with anyone already in the federation’s system?” I talk as fast as the secret service scan my manicured lawns, seeking any dangers lurking in the bushes, unaware I’m the biggest threat to my grandfather’s reign.
Another handful of keystrokes before a whoosh sounds down the line. “No. But that’s not surprising considering what we know.” Konstantine is great at staying one step ahead of our enemies. “I’ll commence my own search shortly. For now, where do you want me?”
My eyes flick to the hallway Zakhar’s room is located in before they lower to the floor. The person I’m endeavoring to protect as fiercely as my son isn’t in the basement. Her ex is since I still haven’t had a second to breathe unmonitored.
“Here. Mikhail won’t let anything happen to Zoya.” That kills me to say, though it is honest. Mikhail protects Zoya like she is the sister he never had the chance to meet.
Konstantine hums in agreement before telling me he’s on his way. “Daniil drives like shit, but his foot never touches the brakes.”
The smirk his commentary caused slips when my grandfather’s demanding voice booms through the entryway of my home. This isn’t the first time he’s visited me, but he’s never displayed glee when he’s walked through my oversized front door.
He approaches me with the walk of a nobleman before fanning out his arms. With an inward sigh, I step into his embrace before kissing both his cheeks.
I refuse to acknowledge the hand he holds out.
Hell will freeze over before I will ever kiss the family crest on his pinky finger ring. It isn’t the exact design as the one the man I killed weeks ago was wearing, though it still grates on my last nerve. How can you shade your family name with so much controversy but wear its emblem with pride?
“Andrik.” He inches back and smiles widely. “I never thought I’d see the day. A great-grandson from my favorite grandson.” His eyes are full of fake elation. Even when we followed his rules to the wire, he’s never treated us with respect. He rules with an iron fist, and Mikhail and I have been subjected to its fury on more than one occasion. “So, where is the boy?”
When he scans the palatial floors of the living area, I realize he is unaware of Zakhar’s condition.
How can that be? He is the federation’s number one puppet.
I put my game face on with only a second to spare. My responses aren’t being scrutinized solely by my blood. My grandfather has arrived with numerous strangers. There is only one face I recognize in his posse. Kolya, his chief of staff.
“Zakhar is getting ready for supper. He will be down shortly.” I gesture my hand to the den. “Until then, shall we have something to drink?”
My grandfather is in his eighties, but he loves a stiff drink as much as every other Russian man. He nods before dismissing the men surrounding him with an arrogant flick of his wrist.
“You, too, Kolya.”
Kolya almost argues but thinks better of it when he is subjected to my grandfather’s deep rumble. It is a clear sign that he has reached his limit of disrespect.
I wait for him to be seated before showing him my selection for our pre-supper splurge. His eyes drop to the label for the quickest second before he jerks up his chin in approval.
Pricy vodka slips over the rim of a crystal glass when he says, “I wasn’t sure if you would be in. Your movements were last placed at a hotel not too far from here.”
I don’t need to turn around to know the cause of the slap that hits the coffee table. It makes the same noise as the files I used to bribe Dr. Hemway.
“I can understand your fascination, Andrik, but your father has done enough damage to our family name. I can’t have you adding more.”
I wet my suddenly dry lips before twisting to face him like I’ve not been endeavoring to keep my relationship with Zoya under wraps for the past eight weeks.
As suspected, a manilla folder sits on my coffee table. Its slide exposes numerous surveillance images of Zoya and me. The top of the stack is me dragging Zoya out of the backstage area of the bikini competition.
There’s disappointment in his tone when he says, “Your wife has undergone in-vitro fertilization—”
“Which has been unsuccessful,” I interrupt, like Arabella’s failings aren’t my fault. “Hence me looking elsewhere.” I hand him his vodka, then sit across from him. “I did not know of Zakhar’s existence at the time, so I still believed time wasn’t in my favor.”
He nods as if he believes my lies before sipping on his drink. Once his mouth is tingling with the effects of alcohol, he scrapes his rheumy hand across his lips.