Page 3 of Love to Defy You (The Dark Love #2)

Mikhail cranes his neck to watch her leave until she closes the door behind her. “I must say, Fyodor, you’ve got excellent service here.”

“We didn’t come here to get you laid,” I say. “Can we focus, please?”

“Don’t mind me.” He raises the coffee cup to his lips and slurps with deliberate obnoxiousness. “I’m just a fly on the wall.”

“A horsefly, more like it,” I fire back.

“Yeah, yeah.” He dismisses my remark with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, Fyodor, what are you doing grunt work for? Is your father forcing you to work over the summer holiday?”

Fyodor loosens his tie and leans back in his executive chair, the leather groaning beneath him. “Yeah. I have to slog right along with the plebians to ‘learn the trade,’ so he says. It’s pure hell.”

“Fuck this place.” Mikhail sets his coffee down with a clatter. “Let’s go to Santorini instead. You, me, and Alek, right now.”

“I’ll endure the drudgery until I pick up my father’s mantle.” Fyodor’s gaze flicks to me. “Wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me.”

I give him a tight-lipped smile, but the temperature of the room drops several degrees. “Careful, Fyodor, or I’ll take my business to Sberbank instead.”

He clears his throat. “Anyway, I have your file pulled up here. I have all the paperwork drawn up that you need to sign. I just have a few questions. Namely, how do you want to divide the assets upon your death?”

“Half to Anastasia, in a trust until she turns eighteen, and half to Willow.”

Mikhail whistles. “You’re leaving half your assets to your girlfriend? For that amount of money, you better be marrying her.”

I smirk, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

Fyodor arches his eyebrow. “But what about your mother?”

I shrug. “Ana can be in charge of her monthly allowance.”

Mikhail snorts into his coffee. “That’s coldhearted, turning your own mother out on the street.”

“Ana won’t leave her destitute.” I run my hand along the faded scars on my forearm—the ones inflicted by my father. Perhaps if she didn’t turn a blind eye to Grigor’s abuse, I would be more amenable to indulging her.

“Oh, and Mikhail can be the trustee until she comes of age,” I add.

Mikhail chokes on his drink and breaks into a coughing fit. “Me?”

“Well, I can’t name my mother, can I? She can’t be trusted with that amount of money.”

Mikhail’s family and mine go way back, and I don’t trust anyone else besides Mikhail and Willow to take care of my sister if anything were to happen to me. And with all the enemies the Kurochkins have made over the years, my early demise isn’t outside the realm of possibility.

Fyodor makes a few notes, then sets his fountain pen down with a deliberate motion. “Now that that’s settled, let me be frank with you, Aleksandr. As your friend.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “Don’t mix personal matters into my business.”

“Fine.” Fyodor folds his hands on the desk.

“You’re hemorrhaging money. After the revolution in Andarusia, your domestic investments took a huge hit.

If you keep up this level of spending, you’re not going to have anything left by the time you graduate university.

Right now, you have plenty to cover your tuition until then, but”—he clears his throat—“we need to consider strategic investments since you don’t have any money coming in. ”

The air is practically arctic now.

I cross my leg over the other. “Yes, well, our Russian backers no longer see the Kurochkins as a sound investment, as you’re aware.”

I’m not ignorant of the fact that I no longer have any political influence to exchange for bribes and power. But that influence came attached to my late father.

Growing up, I was expected to pick up my father’s mantle and become the next president of Andarusia, just like his father before him. But now that they’re both dead, my future isn’t predetermined. It’s a blank canvas, which allows me to forge a path outside of Grigor Kurochkin’s oppressive shadow.

Apart from Willow, I’m not sure what my future holds, but having plenty of cash is a good start.

Fyodor’s bank has the most comprehensive overview of the state of my finances, except for a couple of offshore accounts. His family has managed our wealth for decades.

“I’m paying you an exorbitant amount of money for your financial advice, aren’t I?” I ask. “So, advise me. I need solutions, not your pompous attitude.”

Fyodor gives a stiff nod. “Your biggest expenses are your real estate holdings. Between the staff and maintenance, the upkeep on these properties is significant. I’d suggest unloading the ones you don’t need.

If you sell rather than lease them, you’ll have an influx of cash that we can divert into other investment vehicles for you.

And let me guess, you took a private jet here? ”

“Yes,” I growl.

“Sell it. It’s a money pit.”

I tap my chin and stare at the pattern in the carpet. If my finances are as dire as Fyodor says, then I need to take drastic action to set up Anastasia with a comfortable safety net and secure my future with Willow.

There aren’t many times in my life when I felt powerless, except when it came to my father. He threatened to do foul, despicable things to Willow, and there was nothing I could do to stop him except to break up with her.

It almost drove her to end her own life.

I cannot allow anyone to have that level of control over us again.

I have many enemies, and anyone who wants to take me down will exploit Willow as my one and only weakness.

To protect Willow—whether it’s from my enemies or herself—I need to be unstoppable.

I need enough power and influence to ensure that nothing can touch her, and wealth is the only way to secure that peace of mind.

I steeple my hands in front of me and pin Fyodor with a shrewd look. “Isn’t that what I pay you for, Rumpelstiltskin? To invest my straw and turn it into gold?”

Fyodor sets his lips into a thin line. “Indeed, but I can’t work with empty coffers.” He sifts through the paperwork on his desk and slides it in front of me. “Just sign here.”

I already reviewed the beneficiary designation paperwork he emailed over this morning, so this is just a formality for him to witness and notarize my signature.

Fyodor hands me his fountain pen, and I sign each line he points to as he quickly flips through the pages. It’s obvious he wants me to leave.

When I finish, I set the pen down on the desk and glance up. “Are we done here?”

“Yes, we’re done.” Fyodor gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and when he speaks, his disdain drips off every syllable. “Thank you for your business, Aleksandr.”