Chapter 119 119

Chapter 119 119
I stiffen. “Right about what?”

“Adrian’s reasons for being in the ring. What if he knew about your mother all along and he was just trying to track her down?”

“Without my help? Bullshit.”

“Maybe he was trying to do this on his own,” she suggests. “Maybe he was trying to get out from underneath your shadow.”

“Fair enough. Let’s pretend he was a fucking saint, and those were his reasons,” I say harshly. “That doesn’t explain why he wouldn’t tell me he found her after the fact.”

Milana nods. “No, it doesn’t explain that.”

“Unless of course I were to stop making excuses for him and start making assumptions based on what I know to be true.” I start rattling things off, counting them down on my fingers. “He stumbled across our mother. He got her out of the ring, set her up somewhere comfortable—and then proceeded to fill her head with lies about me.”

Milana sucks in a breath. “You really think he would have done that?”

“Without a doubt,” I say. “If she’s alive right now, she thinks I’m the devil incarnate. And if she’s dead, then she died believing that I turned out just like the monster she married.”

“Kolya…” Milana whispers.

“June needs to believe that Adrian has some redeeming qualities,” I continue coldly. “She’s carrying his baby, and that’s confusing her. I’ll let her believe whatever the fuck she wants in that regard. But it will no longer stop me from doing what I know I have to do.”

Milana nods and swallows. “I’ll negotiate the contracts down to ten percent,” she says. “Good luck with the father-in-law.”

“Tell that to him,” I mutter as I turn to leave. “He’s the one who’s gonna need it.”

39

KOLYA

“Kolya!” Luke crows, leaping to his feet the moment he sees me.

“Sorry, sir,” stammers the pallid little receptionist I’d stormed past to get here. “H-he didn’t wait for me to check with you. He just barged in.”

“It’s okay, Simone,” Luke laughs, straightening out the obnoxious red tie he’s wearing. “This is my future son-in-law. He’s welcome anytime.”

His enthusiasm certainly suggests that he thinks I’m here to make peace and donate to his foolhardy ambition. I decide not to correct that assumption right away.

“Luke,” I say, shaking his hand. “You look well.”

“As do you! Please,” he says, gesturing to the black leather chairs in front of his desk, “take a seat.”

I sit down. Luke remains on his feet long enough to pull out a crystal tumbler of gin. “Can I offer you a glass?” he asks.

There are a few subtle changes about him, but I notice all of it right away. The suit is Armani. The shoes are handmade Italian. Even the crystal tumbler boasts of excess. Of wealth. Power.

Of connections he has no business making.

“I’ll never say no to a drink, Luke.”

Luke pours us both a hearty splash of gin and passes me a glass. Only then does he sit back down. His chair is decidedly bigger than the two in front of his desk. A leather throne, by the looks of it. I’ll bet he made that decision without the slightest bit of self-awareness.

He takes a sip of his gin and then looks at me pointedly. It’s clear he’s waiting for something—an apology, perhaps. But if that really is what he’s expecting, then it’s clear he can’t read the room.

Or the man sitting across from him.

“How’s Bridget?” I ask pleasantly.

“Busy as a bee,” he chuckles. “The campaign is taking off like wildfire. We’re getting a huge response from the public.”

I glance over my shoulder at the expansive office space that Luke has moved his campaign into. On the other side of the glass wall of his office, dozens and dozens of workers sprint in every direction, yelling on the phone and waving reams of paper in the air, each of them bearing Luke’s smiling face on a background of red, white, and blue.

“I see that,” I remark. “Busy. Exciting. Expensive, too, I bet.”

He doesn’t miss my implication. His smile falters, but he manages to keep it in place, albeit with some difficulty. He’s really gonna have to work on that if he hopes to hold office in this state.

“I have several major donors,” he says. “Once people heard my message, it was tough to ignore.”

I eye the crystal tumbler of gin and Luke immediately starts squirming in his seat. That’s the giveaway. Poor bastard went right for it the moment I entered, like he wanted to incriminate himself before I had to do it for him.

“Interesting that you would have so many devoted supporters in such early days. In fact, it seems almost as though the support came before you even started the campaign.”

He’s starting to sweat a little. He tugs at his collar like it’s itching him. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply, Kolya.”

I lean forward and rest my elbows on his desk. “Forgive me; I’m clearly being too subtle. So let me speak plainly. You sold your soul to the devil, and you’re too stupid to see what a huge fucking mistake that was.”

His eyes bulge in their sockets. It’s funny how little it takes to rattle an arrogant man. Poke at their castle of cards and it all comes crumbling down in an instant.

He looks frantically around the room as though he’s suddenly afraid something’s going to jump out at him. “I-I… don’t know what you m-mean…”

“Lying will take some practice for you, it seems.”

He tugs at his collar again. His hand trembles. “Kolya, you’re going to marry my daughter. It’s important that we get along.”

I shrug. “I happen to disagree. I don’t give two shits about getting along with you. But I do want to make sure you get along with your daughter.”

That takes him by surprise. “E-excuse me?”

“June cares about you and Bridget. She’ll never admit it, but she craves your approval. So from now on, you’re going to be a decent fucking father to her.”

He narrows his eyes, clearly under the impression that he can win a pissing contest with me. That’s the funny thing about money: it goes to your head. It makes you believe you’re invincible.

“Or what?”

“Or the cops will get an anonymous tip and more evidence than they could possibly ignore.”

“Evidence of what?”

“Evidence that the money you’ve used to fund your campaign came from sex rings made up of trafficked women, many of whom are underage.”

His jaw drops in horror. “That’s a vicious, filthy lie.”

“It’s the stone cold truth,” I tell him grimly. “All this money… It came from my brother, didn’t it? Adrian Uvarov is your big supporter. And the people behind him… well, they don’t use their names very often. But the blood on their hands tells the story of their wealth just fine.”

His ashen face is confirmation enough.

I laugh coldly and shake my head. “You didn’t ask the right questions, Luke. My brother got involved with the wrong people a long time ago. His money is blood money. And you are now complicit.”

“I—That—No, I…” he splutters meaninglessly at me.