Page 55 of Inviting Bedlam

But Nix only cocked his head. “Is it really?” he asked mildly.

Goddamn it.

Ivan relaxed his jaw with effort, setting down his spoon. “Fine,” he said, pushing his bowl away from him. “We can have the chaperone.”

Kai raised his mug smugly. “As if you had any choice.”

After Nix leftwith Matteo (the little stowaway looking aghast at finding himself running off solo with an incubus), Ivan remained in the kitchen with Sascha and Kai.

Kai who had set aside his coffee once again, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that made his enormous biceps bulge, as if the kitchen needed a paranormal bouncer to protect its occupants from Ivan.

Sascha seemed to ignore Kai’s ridiculous posturing easily enough. He had his own coffee steaming in front of him. As did Ivan, although he preferred tea.

“So what’s up?” Sascha asked, worrying the sleeve of his brightly colored shirt. “You change your mind about me running one of your clubs?”

Just the suggestion of it had Kai growling at Ivan, like Ivan had said the words himself.

Ivan raised a brow at him, refusing to be cowed. “Charming,” he sneered. He turned back to Sascha. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. I—” He paused, realizing he had no idea how to say what he wanted to say.

I’ve been fucking my incubus, and it turns out he has some decent business ideas?

I’ve been fucking my incubus, and now the intolerance I’ve let slide for so long is no longer acceptable?

Or better yet…

I’ve been fucking my incubus, and I’m realizing our father was not only a deranged psychopath but a fallible one.

He cleared his throat, tapping at the table with one finger. He settled on the vague statement, “Nix has some ideas about restructuring.”

“Okaaay…,” Sascha said slowly, clearly needing more detail.

“We’re looking to change up the men,” Ivan told him. “Get rid of those that hold father’s old…ideals.”

“Get rid of how?” Sascha immediately asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

“They’ll be given a chance to walk away,” Ivan said easily.

He didn’t add what would happen if the men refused that chance. Sascha was flighty but not stupid.

“What kind of ideals are you looking to weed out?”

“The hair-trigger violence. The changeable loyalties. The…bigotry.”

Sascha’s face gave nothing away, even though Ivan knew for a fact he had some strong opinions on the way their father’s men had always looked at him. The way they’d judged him. The wayIvan had…strongly suggested Sascha dress and act a certain way to prevent them from doing so.

“Why now?” was all Sascha asked.

“I never considered it an option before. But it would…ease things, to have a less hostile group. Less paranoia on my end, you might say.”

Sascha had always accused Ivan of that: paranoia. He thought Ivan was too controlling. Too suspicious. Ivan had resented him for it. Resented that Sascha wasn’t the same way. That he hadn’t been forced to be by their father.

“Your mole,” Sascha said suddenly. “You figured out who it is?”

Ivan’s finger stopped its tapping, fists clenching instead. “Sergei.”

“Sergei?” Sascha let out a disbelieving laugh. “He raised you. And Alexei. And me, if I hadn’t been away at boarding school so much.”

“Father raised us,” Ivan corrected. “Sergei only…helped.”

---