Page 179 of Doubts & Fears

“Damn, girl. You’re a handful. No wonder the three of them are exhausted.” He laughed.

“Trust me, if they are exhausted, it isn’t because of me. They’ve been gone all day, and I swear Alek is probably lying to me about what they’re doing.”

“And what is it you think they’re doing?”

“Snatching souls and then taking Nik to the club to engage in furious fornication so he doesn’t attack me. Don’t laugh, it’s what they do.”

“Really, and how exactly do you know this?”

“Never mind how I know, I just do. Now, if I can get the virginal sacrifice out of the way, they can come straight home going forward. Are you in?”

“God, they’re going to kill me, but yeah. Let’s hear what you have in mind.”

“Very well, but this goes without saying. This stays between us for the time being. Once I succeed, you can blow the whistle.”

“Clearly, they’re going to have my ass, you know. It’s a good thing I like you, young lady.”

“Awe, that’s sweet, Caruso. I still haven’t forgiven you, though.”

“Oh, that’s right. How did things go with Marcel today?”

“You don’t want to know. He is damn good, though, at getting me to open up. I managed not to tell on myself about hell week, so partial win. But back to seducing your friend. Here’s what I was thinking.”

I spent the next half hour trying to devise a foolproof way to get Aleksandr to sleep with me. Feeling more confident than ever, I hung up with Sebastian. Ignoring that small twinge of guilt, I headed upstairs with a game plan.

I’d be using Marcel and today’s session to create some distance. I also needed to push Marcel off. I couldn’t have another session with him before I put my plan in motion. I’d walked a fine line earlier with him, but I’d also made him a promise.

Commence operation absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Chapter 57

Mikhail Romanov

We Need To Talk, Son

As the rusty gates slid open, I glanced at the lone car idling off the side of the road. Konstantin, my son, stood leaning against the car. He grinned and whispered, “It’s good to see you again. You’re free. Let’s get out of here.”

It had been seven years. Seven years imprisoned for my crimes. I would have died there for them, but Konstantin had secured my release. He was my eldest son, the one I got to keep.

I owed him so much. I had thought about my life a lot over the last several years. Given my age and the distinct experiences of living a life of hardship, followed by crime, it meant a hard life. Who I was had given me a level of knowledge that made me dangerous.

Stepan Fedorov bestowed upon me the privilege of Sovietnik many years ago. I had served my Pakhan faithfully, and now here I was, released from the hell I had endured for the last seven years, and the first thing I could think of was my little Mischa.

Aside from Owen, Stepan was the only other man who knew of her existence. I had wanted to make arrangements to get her home as soon as I heard Owen had died. But Mischa had taken off. Owen had taught her well, and it had taken us two years to find her.

Things were impossible right now, and getting information in and out was taking too long. I turned my attention back to my son. Something flashed in his eyes, but he remained silent.

Something was wrong. Konstantin was one of the few people who knew of my friendship with Owen Taylor. He knew I kept tabs on him and what he thought was Owen’s granddaughter.

Owen, whose real name was Oleg, and I had grown up together. He had the privilege of being Russian and American. I had helped secure his passage to theUnited States many years ago. We’d always maintained our friendship, which was more like brothers, so when I needed him, he stepped up to the plate.

My own son didn’t know the mission I had Owen on. That was trusted to no one other than Stepan. But his expression unsettled me.

“What is it?” I said, grabbing him by his shoulders. At sixty-five years old, I was still in peak physical shape.

“It’s Owen’s granddaughter. I know you were best friends, but we received word about a fire at her home.”

His words were a punch in the gut. “How?” I demanded.

---