Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“Yaroslav was born a nobody in the streets of Moscow and lived like a rat for most of his youth.” Dad narrows his eyes in the Chicago leader’s direction. “He only got this far by using his father-in-law’s fortune like a parasite, so he’s definitely not an insider.”
“He might not be an insider, but he has a bargaining chip that allows him an in we currently don’t have.”
That can’t be good.
Dad and Uncle Adrian fall silent, but many others are whispering about Yaroslav. He’s not truly liked by any of the other factions, but he’s respected, or probably feared, because many of the other leaders fall in line to greet him.
No one from our side steps up, though, which is understandable, considering the bad blood.
It might have started a long time ago, but it was cemented after that attack on the camp. Yaroslav thinks our side did it, and Dad thinks Chicago is the one behind it.
But I’m not sure.
I’ve often found that incident strange, and I’ve done a lot of digging over the years, but I’ve never come up with anything different from my father’s findings. He believes Yaroslav hacked into our system and sent people to kill me, and it was only a stroke of luck that Yulian took the bullet instead.
While it does make sense from Dad’s perspective, in reality, it’s not convincing. Although there’s no love lost between father and son, Yaroslav wouldn’t put his heir in danger like that; he just wouldn’t risk it.
But again, it’s only speculation, and there’s no proof at this point.
“Morozov, Volkov.” A man with fully white hair and a strong build cuts through the small crowd surrounding us, though he doesn’t truly have to since they make room for him.
The leader of the Boston branch.
Uncle Adrian nods in acknowledgment, and my father says, “Markov.”
“What’s with the long face, gentlemen?” His words roll out in a thick Russian accent, followed by a booming laugh as he snaps his fingers at a waiter, who nearly trips rushing over. Markov plucks two flutes of champagne and hands them to my father and Uncle Adrian. “Let’s drink to new beginnings.”
Dad takes the glass but doesn’t lift it to his mouth. “Not if he’s here. I told you that.”
“Now, now.” Markov, our enthusiastic host, throws his hand around. “Don’t hold on to old grudges. It’s not like you. Besides, as a gesture of goodwill, Dimitriev brought his disabled child to show support for the cause. Flew her all the way from Chicago, which is unheard of, considering how much he shelters her. The least you can do is be a little lenient. For my sake, yes?”
“I will not compromise,” my father says with finality, but I’m not focused on him, my gaze square on Yaroslav.
My lips part when the last person I expected to see walks through the door.
Yulian.
He wasn’t on the list of guests. I know because I checked it, obsessively, hoping for what, I don’t know.
But he’s actually here.
My heart squeezes, the air in my lungs constricting, and my ears ring, completely tuning out the conversation surrounding me.
Every morsel of my attention is directed at him.
He’s in a black suit, stretched taut over muscle, no tie, the top buttons of his white shirt undone. His hair is slicked back, his expression flat—bored, almost—as he wheels a girl in a stunning pink dress in front of him.
The resemblance is uncanny, though she’s softer, blue-eyed, copper waves framing her face. She glances back at him with a smile, says something, and he laughs.
A loud thud echoes in my chest.
Fuck.
I’ve seen Yulian laugh before, but never like that, with his mismatched eyes glittering and his whole body leaning forward.
That must be Alina, his baby sister that he mentioned before.
He said she was a ballerina, so did she become disabled during these last four years or…?
He lifts his head, and my hand balls into a fist in my pocket when our eyes meet. Even though it’s across a room packed full of people, it’s almost as if we’re the only ones here.
His laughter dissipates, and something inside me shivers and dies.
What the actual fuck?
He used to always have this automatic grin whenever he saw me, but now…he’s scowling?
Yulian turns his sister around, cutting off eye contact as he wheels her to the side opposite from me.
Is the motherfucker avoiding me?
The rage festering inside me ignites, bleeding red into my vision.
Fuck this.
If Yulian believes he can come and go as he wishes, then he’s in for a rude fucking awakening.
Whatever this thing between us is will go according to my rules, and he has no say in it.
20
YULIAN
“The tempo is too fast.” Alya’s disapproving voice trickles through the chaos, jarring me out of my head.
Seriously, I don’t do well when I think too much, kind of drive myself up a wall, actually.