Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“Valik sent a messenger to St. Petersburg to warn me that Dimitri Tipova had followed him to London and was busily destroying the business I worked for years to create.”

Dimitri’s lips twisted. “Do you expect an apology?”

Nevskaya wrinkled his nose as if there were a foul smell in the air.

“I expect you to tend to your criminal activities and leave me in peace.”

“But I do not wish to leave you in peace,” he informed his father, his gaze never wavering from the face that had haunted him for too many years. “I want you to suffer exquisite agony each and every day of your miserable existence.”

“Such melodrama.” The count waved a dismissive hand. “You are so regrettably like your mother.”

Dimitri’s finger tightened on the trigger of his gun, only distantly aware of the sound of footsteps as Fawzi grasped his opportunity to escape.

How satisfying would it be to put a bullet in the reprobate’s black heart?

“I happen to consider that a compliment,” he gritted. “My mother was a beautiful, courageous woman who was destroyed by a disgusting letch.” He flicked a contemptuous gaze over his father. “You are not worthy to speak her name.”

“She was a peasant who was fortunate to have won my attention.”

Oh, yes, definitely a bullet straight into his heart.

“Quite fortunate,” he snapped. “She was raped, impregnated and then tossed into the gutter to die. I cannot fathom why she was not overwhelmed with gratitude.”

“Bah.”

Dimitri bit back his angry words. He was wasting his breath if he hoped to make his father suffer the least amount of guilt. The only means of truly wounding him was to attack his insufferable pride.

He forced himself to lean back in the seat, his expression sardonic.

“Of course, she did manage to outwit you.”

“Absurd.”

“How furious you were when she arrived on your doorstep and demanded that you pay for your son’s education.” Dimitri chuckled, genuinely enjoying the memory of his mother’s boldness, her spine stiff and her head held high as the count threatened any number of vile retributions. “But she would not be bullied or cowed.”

“I should have had you both disposed of like the vermin you were,” his father bit out.

“Yes, it is a pity you were a pathetic coward who allowed yourself to be manipulated by a mere whore.”

Fury flared through his father’s golden eyes as an ugly color crawled beneath his skin. Dimitri braced himself, willing the man to attack. He might have qualms about shooting an unarmed man, no matter how deserving of death he might be, but he would not hesitate to defend himself.

Then, with an obvious effort, the count wrapped himself in his haughty composure.

“She soon enough regretted her temerity,” he taunted. “I heard that she died in the gutter.”

Dimitri smiled, grimly refusing to react. “And now you are about to share her fate.”

Nevskaya’s gaze covertly shifted toward the gun before returning to Dimitri’s face. It was no more than a flicker. But it was enough to convince Dimitri that his father was not quite as impervious to the dangers of his situation as he would have him believe.

“You think I fear death?”

“Yes, I think you fear it very much,” Dimitri said slowly. “But who could blame you? Men who prey on children are destined for the deepest pits of hell.”

“I am a nobleman,” he announced with cold disdain. “I am above tedious morals.”

Dimitri grimaced. He might have laughed if not for the knowledge Nevskaya truly believed his social position gave him liberty to commit any sin with impunity.

And worse, he was not alone in his arrogance.