Page 67

I move to her side, crouching to meet her eyes. “Diana, are you sure it wasn’t a dream? A hallucination? You’ve been working too hard; maybe—”

“He’s in the spare bedroom of the Left Wing,” she interrupts. “I put him there last night when you didn’t answer your phone. He was… He needed rest.”

The proximity to Stella and Polina sends a jolt of alarm through me. To Bobik in his secure quarters.

“You let him stay in the manor? Near my family?” I bark.

“What was I supposed to do?” Her voice rises slightly. “Leave him on the doorstep? Have security throw out our own father?”

“Yes,” I snap. “Exactly that.”

She flinches, and I immediately regret my tone. This isn’t her fault. She was spared the worst of his abuse because I took it for her. Maybe she doesn’t remember him the way I do. But no, I know that’s not true.

“I’m sorry,” I say, gentler now. “You did what you thought was right. But Dee, he can’t stay here. He can’t know about Bobik, about Stella, about Polina.”

“I know.” She sets the teacup down with deliberate care, ceramic clattering as her hand trembles. “I didn’t tell him anything. Just gave him a room and said you’d speak with him today.”

I stand, mind racing through implications, contingencies, threats. “How did he find us? How did he even get to Los Angeles?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say much.” She hesitates. “Aleksei, he’s… he’s not well.”

“Drunk?” The familiar anger rises, memories of childhood beatings, of my mother’s tears, of Diana’s muffled sobs from the next room.

“No. Not drunk.” She shakes her head. “Just looks like shit. I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about it.”

The information should bring satisfaction. Instead, it brings confusion. Why come here now, after all these years? Why seek out the son who exiled him, the daughter he neglected?

“I’ll go see him.” I straighten, decision made. “Where is he now?”

“Probably sleeping after the trip.” Her shoulders rise into a graceful shrug. “I haven’t been to check on him. After he got settled, I came out here and… tried to relax.” She glances down at the overflowing ashtray on the side table where the remains of half a dozen joints have been stubbed out. My sister’s numbed herself with enough weed to cripple an elephant.

I offer my hand, pulling her to her feet. “Go to your suite. Rest. I’ll handle this.”

She hesitates. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing drastic.” I soften the words with a brief hug— physical affection that doesn’t come naturally to me, but that Diana needs. “Just find out why he’s here and get him somewhere else. Quickly.”

She nods against my shoulder, the tension in her body easing slightly. “Be careful, Aleksei. He’s still our father.”

I force myself not to snort in disgust.Father. A title he never deserved.

“Go rest,” I repeat, releasing her. “I’ll call you later.”

I watch her walk toward her apartment in the Left Wing, shoulders still hunched, movements uncertain. Seeing her this way— diminished, frightened— reignites the protective rage I’ve carried since childhood.

No one hurts my sister. Not even our father.

Especially notour father.

I watch her leave, not moving until she disappears into the building. The satisfaction of the morning’s business success has evaporated, replaced by cold focus. My father is here, in my home, near my family. Near Bobik, whose existence must remain secret at all costs. Near my brand-new daughter and my woman.Mywoman. I don’t care how confused she might be about us right now, that much remains a simple truth.

And I will rip him to pieces before he raises a hand to any of them.

Even if he doesn’t, I’m going to let him know that he is not welcome. Never will be. Whatever brought Rodion Tarasov back from fucking Siberia, he won’t find redemption here.

Only the consequences of his actions, delivered by the son he failed to break.

Chapter Twenty-Six