Despite everything, I wanted him to--
Yuri exited Paxan's office.
I abruptly stepped back, tucking my hair behind my ears, resisting the urge to whistle. As the man passed, I tried not to notice the AK-47 strapped to his back. Even after a week here, I was still uneasy seeing guns everywhere. When the brigadiers took tea breaks, they would casually lay their weapons down beside their cups.
I kept telling myself, Roll with it, roll with it.
Sevastyan gave Yuri a chin jerk in greeting. Carry on. While the brigadiers revered Paxan, they seemed to uniformly fear Sevastyan. I'd overheard them talking about "the Siberian" in hushed tones.
Once Sevastyan and I were alone again, sanity resumed. I didn't need to be kissing a man who'd ruthlessly cut me out of his life. Didn't need to reward his shitty treatment of me.
Jess had an m.o. for dealing with badly behaving males--she called it ABC: Always Be Crazier. I was thinking my m.o. might be kill 'em with kindness.
When Sevastyan opened his mouth to speak, I gave his arm a brisk pat. "Good talk, buddy! We should do this in another week or so." I strode off, leaving him looking confounded.
F ifteen minutes later, Paxan and I were sitting in the pavilion at a table topped with tea, delicacies, and our chessboard. A fire in the pavilion hearth crackled, warming us. As usual, Sevastyan worked some distance away, fielding phone calls, his watchful eyes scanning for a threat.
The two of us sipped and snacked, wading deeper into our game. "Do you know who is a master player?" Paxan eyed our pieces. "Aleksandr."
"Is he?" I made my tone as uninterested as possible, even as my gaze flicked over to Sevastyan.
He was embroiled in a heated conversation, had begun striding outside into the drizzle. He made his way down to the nearby boathouse--which really should be called a "yacht house" considering the sixty-foot beauty housed inside.
I knew sub-nothing about boats, but I was pretty sure this one had been the villain's yacht in Casino Royale. Paxan had promised to take me out once the weather--and danger--broke, said we could motor all the way to the Gulf of Finland.
"You should play Aleksandr sometime."
I gave a shrug. Pass. I was trying to get over my fascination with him, not fuel it.
Yet when Sevastyan's words floated up, dimly echoing from the boathouse, I frowned. "Is he speaking . . . Italian?"
"Ah, yes," Paxan said proudly. "He speaks four languages fluently. He's a--what do you call it?--a self-learner?"
I nodded. The bruiser boxer, the feared enforcer, the professional hit man, was an autodidact. Fascination fueled once more. Damn it.
"If only I could interest him in the workings of clocks." Paxan had begun teaching me, and I'd geeked out, finding it addictive. "So have you given some thought to making this your full-time home?" He'd yet to exert any pressure on me, although I could tell how much he longed for me to stay.
In a dry tone, I said, "Gee. Maybe if you'd give me some gifts, you know, spoil me a little." I'd received countless pieces of priceless jewelry, another closetful of clothes, a red Aston Martin Vanquish that Filip had salivated over, and even my own thoroughbred, an exquisite dapple-gray mare named Alizay. I only awaited a sunny day to take her out.
In a matching tone, he said, "Next you'll be saying the Faberge egg was too much."
With a laugh, I held up my thumb against my forefinger. "Just a touch."
He chuckled with me. "I can't help it. I have all this money and years to make up for. The birthday presents alone . . ." He tilted his head. "Sometimes I wish you were more interested in being rich."
The present that I'd adored above all the rest had been the least expensive: a framed portrait of my mother, Elena. How I wished I'd been able to know her!
She'd had strawberry blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a coy smile. I might resemble my grandmother, but I saw similarities to Elena as well.
When I'd gushed over the thoughtfulness of the gift, Paxan had informed me that the idea had been Sevastyan's, which had surprised me.
"It's not that I don't appreciate everything, but at heart, I'm a farm girl. I like the simple life. Besides, you are the draw here--not the gifts." I hadn't gotten around to telling him that I wanted him to change his will back. The topic was morbid, and I got the sense that it would crush his feelings.
"But Berezka is pleasant, no?"
I gazed out over the surreal landscape. A green lawn sprawled to the edge of the river. Light drops of rain splashed the surface with notes like music. Otters frolicked in the current. Each day, Paxan would point out local species of animals. "Look! It's a stoat," he'd say. Or a shrew, or a raccoon dog, or a great crested grebe.
I admitted, "It's magical here."
"What can I do to convince you to stay?"
As little as I saw Mom, I could visit her twice a year at her new place. She was currently on a cruise around the world that she'd "won." Just a precaution, courtesy of the Kovaleva syndicate.
When I'd called to check in, I hadn't told her anything, figuring a reveal this major should be done in person.
Eventually Mom would be fine wherever I lived, but how could I leave Jess . . . and school? "Living here would be challenging, with school and all." I could let my master's stand as my ending degree; I didn't have to pursue the PhD. Yet somehow that felt like quitting.
"We are within driving distance of several renowned universities."
God, the hopefulness in his voice was killing me. I knew he was accustomed to having his way, just as Sevastyan clearly was, but Paxan was making the effort to coax me to remain--which made me respect him all the more.
"Starting at a new university is something to investigate, at least," I said, committing to nothing.
I was beginning to suspect that I was a commitment-phobe. Though I'd always considered myself decisive, I could see now that my decision trees were usually limbless.
If one completed a master's degree and didn't want to make a decision about one's future . . . well, get a PhD! Stay in the same chute. Start classes a week after the last ones ended.
Maybe that was why the money bothered me so much; in a way, it represented infinite choices.
Hell, I hadn't even chosen to come to Russia.
"It's your move, dorogaya moya." My dear.
I made a halfhearted play. "What about the danger, Paxan? What's happening with that other organization?"
"These are difficult times we live in. There used to be, well, honor among thieves. Now the areas I control are getting flooded with an element that frightens my people."
"What's going on?"
"I'll give you a mild example. My rival, Ivan Travkin, set up a parking lot in the middle of my territory. No one used it--there was no need to--so Travkin's men began smashing the windshields of any cars outside the lot, forcing people to pay for parking every day. They came to me to get this stopped, so I sent Sevastyan, who shut that operation down. Forcefully."
I could only imagine what the legendary Siberian had done.
"For years, Travkin has searched for small inroads like this, planning the death of my syndicate by a thousand cuts. But when he learned of your existence and sent two of his deadliest enforcers to America"--my twinkling-eyed Santa of a father grew steely-eyed and cold--"it was a declaration of war."
War. Was it any wonder that I worried about Paxan constantly? And about Sevastyan, his frontline general?
"Once we prevail, things will be different for you. We can move freely." Paxan's expression softened again. "I will show you the country of your birth, your mother's hometown. We can find any cousins of yours!"
"I would love that. Other than this trip, I've never traveled."
He gave me an odd look, a guilty one, as if that was a failing on his part. "A fact that must be remedied as soon as possible. But in the meantime, it's not so bad at Berezka?"
As if magnetized, my gaze sought out Sevastyan. Though no longer on the phone, he remained on the dock, scanning t
he perimeter. I lifted my teacup for a sip, and a moment to gather my thoughts.
"So the interest runs both ways?" Paxan said slyly.
I nearly choked on tea.
"Aleksandr told me about the two of you."
I set down my cup, because it shook. "What did he say?"
"After you two arrived, he came to me, confessing that things with you had passed beyond what was . . . expected."
Had I gotten Sevastyan in trouble? "This is all my fault," I quickly said. "Before I knew who he was, I tried to pick him up in a bar--something I had never done before. And then later, I pushed him. He said no, that I was your daughter, but I pushed."
"I'm not angry, dear! I love Aleksandr as my son and want only what's best for him. He's thirty-one, and I'd despaired of him ever settling down. He's never even dated the same woman twice."
"S-settling down? Um, why are you speaking about that?" Had Sevastyan mentioned wanting to? With me? I couldn't tell if I was perversely thrilled--or about to bolt from the pavilion. "What did he say?"
Kovalev steepled his fingers. "When we first began to suspect that you might truly be my daughter, he grew excited at the prospect of having a sister. But then . . ." He trailed off with a perplexed expression.
"But then?"