Page 65 of Stolen By the Don

I ignore the subtlety, pretending the subject is still food. “If it’s deserved, then yes, I support it. But I won’t use an innocent object to even the odds.”

My subtle message isn’t lost on him as he arches a brow.My father might’ve killed yours, but you didn’t have to drag me into it.

His eyes darken, and his fingers reach out. I flinch instinctively, but he stops at the bottle of Merlot, picking it and pouring it into my empty glass. “You should have some more wine. It goes well with the steak.”

God.I grit my teeth so hard the sound grates on my nerves. “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Egoistic, narcissistic, terrible, unimaginable?—”

“Brute?” he cuts in before I’m done ranting.

“Yes,” I spit. “You’re a brute. And don’t think for one second that knowing who you are makes it any better, because it doesn’t.”

Roman leans back slightly, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips as he lifts his glass. “You’re beautiful when you’re pissed off.”

I freeze mid-breath. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He sips the wine casually, like he didn’t just flip the entire conversation on its head. “The fire suits you. Makes your eyes sharper, your voice stronger.”

My mouth opens, then closes. My brain short-circuits. “I—that’s not the point,” I finally manage, flustered beyond coherence.

“No,” he says, gaze steady on mine. “But it’s true.”

I part my lips, but the words stick to my tongue, shy and unsure. Groaning, I shove my mouth full of steak and vegetables, glaring at him as I chew. I was right when I thought that something was afoot.

Roman Volkov is incapable of being kind or courteous. If he thinks I’ll let it slip unnoticed, he has another thing coming.

I findmyself tossing and turning for hours, unable to sleep without Roman and my father fighting for space in my thoughts. Pulling the covers over my head and pretending I’m in some faraway place doesn’t work, so I give up.

Swinging my feet over the edge of the bed with a groan, I stand up and head to the bathroom to wash my face. When I head out, I plop back on the edge of the bed and stare at the pillow over my shoulder.

Fluffy, cold pillow. If I lie down on it, I bet I’ll fall asleep.

Nope.

After another ten minutes of desperately searching for sleep, I toss on a sweater and longer pants before heading out of myroom. The house is quiet, and the silence echoes so loudly that I tiptoe down the stairs, careful not to make a noise.

“Tea,” I mutter as I go over my options. Coffee would be my first option, but if I plan to get any sleep, then some herbal tea would work best.

As I make my way toward the kitchen, a pair of low voices drifts in from the living room—serious, clipped, and tense. I stop mid-step, instinctively holding my breath.

“We still don’t know where he is?—”

Leo.

“Then we keep looking.”

Roman.

I don’t need to hear the rest to know who they’re talking about. My stomach twists painfully, and I glance back at the staircase just a few feet away. I should turn around.Go back upstairs. Pretend I never heard a thing.

Because whatever they’re planning—it won’t end well.

I may have already grieved the father I thought I had and come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never see him again…but that doesn’t mean I’m numb.

That doesn’t mean I can stand here and listen to them talk about him like he’s already dead. But I don’t leave.

Instead, my bare feet move silently across the floor, careful not to make a noise. The dread in my stomach digs deeper as I move closer, but curiosity eats at me, stubborn and unrelenting.

I need to know. It’s not just curiosity, but also the part of me that can’t quite let my father go. Ihatehim for everything I know now, but he was the only parent I had. He taught me almost everything I know. I would’ve done anything for him. It’s hard to let go of something like that.

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