by Raven Scott
“I just wanted to meet you. I’m going back home in a few weeks, and I doubt I can spend $3million Rubles that fast.”
“From your emails, I thought you lived here. I didn’t know my dad meant to pay for your apartment until you come back from the States.”
She smiled slightly, a sad sigh escaping her slightly parted lips.
“What was my dad like with you?”
“He was a very tired man… tired and run down. It’s not surprising to me that he had a heart attack.”
Her smile saddened more and my heart twisted for her; even if they weren’t strong, Gigi’s feelings for my dad were very much real. This is fucked up. She’s my dad’s mistress.
She went on, “I think he liked being with me because I never expected anything from him. If he wanted to talk, I’d listen and give my input, but if not, that was okay, too. I think he just needed someone to listen and sympathize with him without being judgmental.”
“Did he ever talk about me?” Interest colored my tone.
Gigi shook her head slightly and sipping her coffee briefly, she hummed a sound that tickled my ears. “He mostly talked about his life— how his own father basically sold him to another family, and that family eventually forced him to marry your mother. It was a lot of stuff about his childhood and teenage years. If we had time, I’m sure I would’ve eventually gotten the whole story, but… I’d never use this information and it makes me very sad how far cruelty reaches.”
“I’m not paying you off, not that way, Gigi.”
A hard knock echoed from the front of the house, and I pursed my lips thinly as my brow twitched in irritation.
Gigi set her mug down, gathering up her purse with another slight shake of her head. “I’m sorry. I want to keep talking to you, but…All the crazies come out when someone dies. Especially when money is involved. I’ve heard stories.” Rounding the edge of the island, Gigi held my hands in delicate fingers. Her smile was warm, soft and gentle along with an emotional smile. “Thank you for reaching out to me, Ophelia.”
“Thank you for not being one of the crazies.” My tongue hurt from speaking nothing but English. Squeezing Gigi’s hands, I let them go to head for the door. She was quiet as we walked to the door, the banging getting louder and more abrasive. Throwing open the solid wooden barrier, I scowled darkly. “What about ‘I don’t care’ do you not understand!” I got nasty with the woman Martin left behind.
She jumped back with a shocked squeak.
Advancing on her, forcing her backwards down the stairs, I exhaled fire through my nose. Anger swirled in my chest because— well, because she was still fucking here!
Finally, this pregnant woman panicked. She stumbled a little as she rushed down the steps, away from me. Holding her belly protectively, she shot me the nastiest look. Pure hatred blazed from her eyes, and
I hoped she’d just crawl back into the hole she’d come out of. “What did you honestly hope to achieve by coming here?” To say I was curious wasn’t right, but I wanted to know.
The nameless woman tensed at my question, her expression twisting darker.
“Martin is dead. You came here and didn’t even introduce yourself when I opened the door, and from what I know of you, you’re a bitch. Martin was prepared to run away to Germany to get away from you, and you think that now… when he’s not here to refute anything you say, that I’ll just take your word for it? No.” My voice hung heavy in the atmosphere.
“That ass owes me! You think I like being like this— pregnant? My parents kicked me out! I’m going to get fired from my job!”
I could feel Gigi’s questioning gaze flicker between us, but I ignored it as I exhaled a hot breath.
The woman whose name I still didn’t know huffed hard, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her nose in the air. “The least you could do is pay me to go away. I can ruin your life.”
“What!” A bark of disgust burst from my throat, my hand flying to cover my mouth as it curved widely. I couldn’t help myself, my shoulders shivering with repressed amusement. Gulping harshly, I inhaled a deep breath and held it. “You can ruin my life? Oh, the horror! I’m so scared!” Cackling horrendously at the absurdity of that declaration, I threw my head back and hugged my sides. My heart raced, true mirth slathering my ribs as they creaked. Even my cheeks hurt from my smile. Suddenly, it all stopped, and I grabbed Gigi’s hand with a vicious shake of my head. As I promised, I led Gigi to her car with one eye on Martin’s crazy, nameless ex-girlfriend. My brain just stopped working. I pinched the bridge of my nose as I stepped back from the car.
Gigi had been driven here, so there was no hesitation as the car rolled around the fountain.
Watching her go, I hoped somewhere foolishly that Gigi stayed well.
“I need a nap.” Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes briefly before they found the other shivering body in the driveway.
She trembled and huffed, her eyes red and puffy but very much shimmering in embarrassment.
I wonder what else I’m going to uncover if I keep digging. “Go ahead and try— try to ‘ruin’ my life… see what I can do to you if you provoke me.”
The woman paled but somehow managed not to cower before I turned my back on her. Wandering back into my house, I reached to rub my scalp and grumbled to myself. Martin’s mistakes aside ‒ Gigi farthest from my thoughts ‒ my mind centered on the broad picture.
Vyachaslav… the Santino brothers… the family’s destruction… what did it all mean? Did I want to find out?
25
Ophelia
“Yeah— he visited me in person.” Sasha nodded. “Basically, he told me to convince you to back off because you make Aleksander look like he’s got no control over anything.”
Rubbing my face with both my palms, I groaned gutturally.
“What’d Malda say?” Sasha asked.
“Who cares about her? I’m more concerned about what to do next now that I know why this all happened. Vyachaslav didn’t just decide to invite me to a Santino function, and surely he didn’t decide to do so on the same day he told you that he wants me gone.” I tugged gently at my hair. “I can’t be that interesting or that much of a threat. Can I?”
Sascha grumbled lowly in acknowledgment, “In my honest opinion, Oppie… these guys are accustomed to power. They’re built on the assumption that their power is absolute. Having you, someone too good at your job, is as much a threat as it is an interest, I think. You’re equal parts an asset and a danger. Whether or not that’s a bad thing is up to you. Did Malda say why they wanted you to fix the issues they’re having with the guys in America?”
“I can guess. If Aleksander runs for Prime Minister and succeeds, having Santino as an established business partner will persuade the rest to cooperate. If Russia can get on America’s level under Aleksander, Carlyle Santino will essentially rule the world.” It sounded so stupid rolling off my tongue—ruling the world, a phrase exclusive to books and movies with bad plots and incompetent villains. “They’re in it for the long haul; I have no doubt at all that it was Santino who initiated the fix. He’s a psychopath, or close enough to it. What else did Vyachaslav say?”
“He brought up his wife and daughters…I mean, he basically talked around me, so whatever that’s worth…”
Lifting my head as Sascha trailed off, I frowned under furrowed brows.
Troubled lines deepened when he pursed his lips, his eyes flashing as they caught mine. “Did your mother ever cheat on your father?”
My breath caught against the loose lump forming in my throat and I pushed myself up to sit fully. “Probably. I know that once Martin was born, they stopped everything. Rumor has it my sisters aren’t my dad’s kids. That’s what Vyachaslav wanted to talk to you about? My parents’ whoring around?” Oh, I know where this is going.
My Sascha developed the most uncomfortable look now.
I reached to hold his hand. “Is this about Vyachaslav thinking I’m his daughter?”
&
nbsp; Surprised, brown eyes widened at my declaration.
I puffed out my lips to hide my frown. Running my free hand through my hair, goosebumps blanketed my arms and legs.
“Do you know for certain you’re not?” he asked. “When did you find this out?”
The air became so heavy and thick, so it felt hard to breathe. Flopping onto my back once again, I stared up at the ceiling through glazed eyes. “I found out when I was, like, 13. My parents were arguing as usual, and my mom was crying about how their plan to get under the Patriarch’s skin didn’t work—how it was all my fault and blah, blah, blah… It didn’t take an extraordinary leap to figure out their plan.” Curling my fingers as my lips twitched down, I blew out a heavy sigh.
Sascha stretched out beside me. Palming my abdomen, he tangled his legs with mine.
I went on, “My dad is my dad…Vyachaslav’s just a contributor. I suddenly knew why I felt so out of place, why I always felt like my family wasn’t my family. But Makovich isn’t a family at all. They’re abusing associations with particular leverage. Honestly… I never thought about it after that day. My dad even at his worst was a better dad than Vyachaslav. At least, I have one or two happy memories with him.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Sasha asked.
My brows rose a little at this, and I tilted my head at him.
Sascha propped his chin on his fist. “I was screwed all afternoon because of that shit, Oppie. I made one of my classes do silent reading, for Christ’s sake.”
“I just said why…I’ve literally never, ever thought about it again. I’m saying that like I was ignoring it, either. I’m not a Makovich. I don’t want to be a Makovich…and no one else wants me to be a Makovich. Vyachaslav coming to see you means he doesn’t want this getting out, and I have no intention of throwing myself into boiling water. Not to mention… this is the one thing where I know that I don’t want any more answers. Those people… I’m not one of them.” Even when my parents were alive, I never understood what they thought would happen. “Desperation breeds regret. I don’t want to regret learning more than I can’t unlearn.”
“How can you just sit on that knowledge, though, Ophelia?”
“Why does that tidbit of information matter so much?” Combatting his question with my own, I covered Sascha’s hand with mine. Tearing my eyes off him to gaze at the ceiling once again, I frowned. “Information only gains importance because of what actions can be taken on it. I never have and never will act on that information. As far as I’m concerned, Vyachaslav is worrying for nothing. Outing him means outing myself, and I’m sure as shit not giving Aleksander that power over me— not again.”
Sasha looked thoughtful. “You have a point. So, what do you think it all means?”
Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth, I let the silence stretch. I was missing something here… something I just couldn’t see. If Makovich did manage to get into America and stabilized the homeland, it’d change the balance of power in the world. To achieve that in the seemingly short timeline Aleksander had planned, he needed to centralize everything. The shadows and the light—there must be a delicate balance he was trying to find. “I don’t know… All I do know is that Vyachaslav taking a more active approach to this is worrying. For now, I’m going to just enjoy this lull. It’s obvious they want me to stop my investigation, so that’s what I’ll do.” Having answers wasn’t the goal I wanted my entire life to culminate to. I rolled onto my side to face Sascha. “Cherinivsky… Makovich… those aren’t the names I want behind mine.”
“Do you want to get married?” He asked the question so easily.
I sighed before shaking my head.
“Why not?”
“Marriage is not something I have a good experience with. I don’t want what we have to be tainted by expectation, Sascha.” Sourness coated my tongue.
He hummed as he slung his arm over my waist.
His warmth seeped into my skin, his fingertips brushing my lower back comfortingly. Closing my eyes to savor his feel and smell, I let all my worries wash away. “I love you too much to marry you.”
“How long are you going to be in America?”
“I don’t know, yet, but I want you to come with me. I thought you could see your brother? It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Almost a decade.”
Squeezing me to his chest, Sascha grumbled in agreement.
I would be anxious about going to America another time. Right now, in this beautiful moment, I simply loved him with all that I was. “Want to cook dinner together?”
“I would love to, Oppie. What were you thinking?” Sweeping his hand up my back, Sascha nuzzled my forehead tenderly.
A tiny smile crested my cheeks, the peace of this moment wrapping around my bones. “Maybe we’ll keep with the America theme. I’d have to look up some recipes, though.” The peace didn’t last as I rolled sloppily over and off the sofa with a grunt. Worry prickled down my spine as Sascha’s revelation overtook my brain. If Vyachaslav and Aleksander had planned everything as well as I suspected… I was fucked.
It meant that scaring my pants off was intentional, and not just for fear’s sake.
It meant that reassuring my pants back on was also very much according to their plan.
It meant… I had nothing. I had no leverage. I had no security. I was completely at Aleksander’s mercy— but, hey! At least I wasn’t pissing myself every time I wasn’t trying to get a 360 degree view of myself and my surroundings.
Scowling lightly as I left the living room, I raked both my hands through my hair. There’s nothing I can do about it, now. I’ve been totally fooled. There’s no use wasting energy on it. I just have to learn not to underestimate Makovich again.
Of course, I may or may not be part of Makovich, but I’d successfully ignored that prospect for a decade. I could keep ignoring it. Obviously, the Patriarch didn’t want that information getting to his kids— that he’d cheated on their dead mother. If Aleksander Makovich has plans for me, I’ll just have to take it all as it comes. Dealing with the aftermath of acknowledging my parentage was way worse than anything he could do to me.
This time, though, I would handle it better.
My reason why wrapped his arms around me to crane his neck and kiss my cheek. “I love you, too, Oppie.”
I’m so screwed. I’m so fucked. God damnit.
26
Sascha
“So… this is all going to happen while we’re in America?” Skepticism strained my voice as I rocked back on my heels.
Ophelia nodded firmly.
The computer generated model looked nice and clean. On the screen, the house didn’t look anything like where Ophelia and I currently lived.
“It’s only been two weeks since Vyachaslav came to my lecture hall, Oppie. I know things are looking up, but this seems a bit too optimistic, don’t you think?”
“Do you think? According to the email I got the other day, we’ll be in America for a month. And it’s all paid for by Makovich Industries. And I want it done before winter. It’s already late in September, and the rains are already starting up.” Ophelia’s family assets had been transferred to her, and she just went with it. That same day, she’d contracted a company to rebuild her parents’ house. She spent a good amount of money on something for herself, even though she refused to tell me what it was.
My understanding of how much money she had, just in liquid, was completely inaccurate. All these years together, and I never knew exactly how much money Ophelia had access to. She never showed off; of course, her nice clothes for company events were expensive, but these past weeks were something else entirely.
It’d calm down, I hoped. Ophelia was entitled to a little splurging. These past four years, she’d been very good at managing her money because she was always afraid of her parents cutting her off. They’d certainly threatened it a lot ‒ if she didn’t break up with me ‒ if she didn’t make them look good… if this and that and all the other petty reasons.
“So, what do you think of the plan?” The head builder was a mason whose age was impossible to determine on his looks alone. “We can always change it. It was smart of you to tear it all down. It’s much easier this way than doing a remodel.”
Ophelia turned at the deep voice. “I like it.” We were downscaling by a good half the size of the current place. Ophelia had gone all out on this project, hiring the best construction firm and throwing money around to get it all expedited. Of course, it helped that everything was going through Makovich Industries. “I’m already excited to come back and see it.”
“Good. I’m excited that you’re excited. We’re going to come in and tear everything out about a week before you leave. You can set the date with the receptionist on your way out. So, is this your first home together?”
Wrapping my arm around her, Ophelia practically beamed, and my heart stuttered. She was so beautiful, so happy, so upbeat, and I blinked to capture her expression. Around us, the light streaming through the floor to ceiling windows dimmed from her sheer force of personality. And I felt more than content to bathe in it, to just sit back, let her warmth touch my face and sear my eyes out of their sockets.
“I have faith that you’ll exceed our expectations, Mr. Ruben,” Ophelia replied. “You came highly recommended.”
Hard hands from years of harder work opened the door to the firm, and I stepped out of Ruben’s office as I spoke up, “You’ve done two of Makovich’s branch offices, right?”
“I also did Aleksander’s home. Not the décor, though. I vehemently disapprove of frescos on the ceiling.” He shook his head in disgust. “I still hate that woman that suggested it.”
I chuckled knowingly.
“Yeah— we’ll be able to handle painting and stuff… and none of it is going on the ceiling.” Nodding firmly to herself, Ophelia pulled her hair over her shoulder to sigh in content.
