“Because you are not so different from me.”
Only years of rigid discipline kept Dimitri from pulling the trigger of the pistol.
“You compare us again, and I will yank out your tongue,” he said, his frigid tone revealing he was prepared to follow through on his threat.
The count’s lips twisted in an ugly smile, taking obvious pleasure in Dimitri’s outrage.
“But we are. You have devoted your life to plotting your revenge upon me. And we both know you would have committed any sin, no matter how evil, to destroy me.” He leaned forward. “I have done nothing less.”
In the moonlight Dimitri could see the haunting likeness between them.
The wide forehead, the aquiline nose, high cheekbones and full lips.
He had always assumed that those physical similarities were all he had in common with Count Nevskaya. After all, the man was a depraved monster who had destroyed countless children. How could he bear to think they were related by more than blood?
But a tiny voice whispered that he had nearly allowed himself to become as empty and bitter as his miserable father.
His dark crusade for revenge had consumed his life. And the count was not mistaken when he claimed that Dimitri had been willing to do whatever necessary to destroy the man who he held responsible for his mother’s death.
He had almost sacrificed his own heart.
In the end, it had been Emma who rescued him.
She filled his heart with love, banishing the hatred that had nearly destroyed him.
He allowed a smile of smug satisfaction. “The difference is that my revenge has succeeded whereas yours has failed miserably.”
A malignant anger twisted the count’s lean features. “Do not be so certain. You have not yet escaped Egypt.”
Dimitri shrugged. “Even if I were to be captured and returned to the citadel it will be no more than a momentary inconvenience. We both know that Alexander Pavlovich will soon demand my release.”
“Until he does, however, you will be trapped.” The older man narrowed his gaze, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “And I can assure you that Fawzi was not the only man I hired to see you dead. Eventually one will succeed.”
Dimitri had to admire his father’s tenacity. Even when he had to realize his plot for revenge had been ruined, he continued to search for a means to salvage his pride.
“I do not believe you.”
“Why would I lie?”
“If there were truly more assassins you would have kept them a secret,” Dimitri countered. “To reveal them to me would steal away their greatest power.”
“Power?”
“The power of catching me off guard.” Dimitri shook his head. He had played chess often enough to know when he had his opponent in checkmate. “No, you are defeated, Father. Utterly and completely defeated.”
His father abruptly stiffened, his icy composure crumbling as he at last accepted that he had been bested by his own son.
In that moment he was not the sophisticated Count Nevskaya. Or the cunning power behind the slave traders. Or even the father who had glared down his nose when Dimitri’s mother had hauled him to the elegant town house.
No. This was a man facing ruin.
The golden eyes smoldered with a demented fire and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth.
“You will pay for this,” the count spat, his hand fumbling toward the door of the carriage.
For a moment, Dimitri assumed his father was attempting to escape.
He was not, after all, the sort of man who would face his guilt with dignity. Had he not fled St. Petersburg like a gutless deserter, leaving behind his comrades to be charged with his crimes?