Page 28 of Reign of a Billionaire

I typed his name in and more information trickled in.

Connections to the Bratva, Cosa Nostra, Irish and Greek mafias, the Syndicate, the Omertà… The list went on and on. Jesus, maybe the Ashfords were in deeper than it seemed.

I read on, scrolling from screen to screen, when it went blank.

Dammit!

Frustrated, my palms came down on the keyboard, my laptop beeping in protest. I really had to up my game in the technology department if counter-tracing kept targeting my own barriers.

I shoved away from the table and stood up when the sound of clicking heels echoed through the hallway. The unmistakable sound of Mother’s Jimmy Choos. I wiped my bed clean of sketches, shoving them underneath my mattress. She hated seeing my drawings, saying it was a reminder of my twin. I also shoved my gun and knife under my mattress, a habit my sister and I had developed living under the same roof as monsters.

I caught my reflection with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks in the vanity and rushed into my bathroom, splashing my face with cold water just as a knock vibrated against my door.

Taking a deep breath in, then exhaling slowly, I padded barefoot across my cold floor and opened the door.

“Hello, Mother,” I greeted her in a voice that hid all my turmoil. Stepping aside to let her enter my only haven in this building, I watched her strut into my room, her eyes roaming over every inch of it.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” I turned to face her, standing and studying her blonde hair, the same shade as mine. Except hers was dyed and there were grays hiding in her mane, indicating her age, which her face refused to show. She’d had so much plastic surgery done—albeit quality work—that she could pass for being two decades younger than she really was. Until you looked in her eyes and spotted the bitterness and loss that no amount of surgery could erase.

“I’m awake,” I confirmed. “So are you.”

She nodded.

“I know we just arrived, but I need to go to Moscow tomorrow.” My eyes widened. It was unusual for Mother to share her itinerary or justify her activities. Unless… “I need you to come along.”

“Why?”

My mother narrowed her eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Yes. “No.”

“Then you’re coming.”

“We just got here,” I protested. “Why can’t you go alone?”

Whatever she was up to, I was sure her many victims were already shaking in their boots. Usually that was how it went. If you were in Sofia Volkov’s sights, you’d better fucking run.

She sighed.

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” I remained silent, our gazes clashing. Something wasn’t sitting right. Maybe it was the fact that she was here in my wing of the castle for the first time since my twin’s death. Or maybe my sixth sense warned there was more to it than she was sharing.

“I’d like to stay,” I repeated again, my eyebrows raised in defiance. I didn’t love this manor, but I could use some time away from her. It was easier for me to plan my missions when I was alone.

“No.” The single word had me reeling like she’d slapped me.

“What’s going on, Mother?” I asked her, prodding. “What are you not telling me?”

Her jaw clenched and my heart pounded, waiting for her reaction. The last time I defied her, I lost a part of myself.

“Be ready first thing in the morning,” she gritted out. “I’m not letting you out of my sight from now on. I won’t allow history to repeat itself.” She pushed her trembling hand through her hair, anguish in her plastic expression. “It always has a way of repeating itself,” she muttered.

Then she turned around without further ado and left me staring after her, more confused than ever.History is repeating itself. The words echoed on repeat in my skull. What did she mean by that? She couldn’t have been talking about my twin. Could she? She had to be referring to her firstborn, Winter Volkov, who was kidnapped by the Irish.

I remained frozen, staring after her, the wheels in my mind churning. My mother kept so many secrets, I was starting to wonder whether she was suffocating beneath them too.

She wasn’t happy. I couldn’t remember her ever being happy. Not even when she was with her lovers—male or female. She didn’t have any friends. And she certainly wasn’t happy with the sperm donor, as she called my father. To this day, I didn’t know why my mother had chosen Edward Murphy to get her pregnant. There had to be something else behind it, aside from Mother wanting children.

There was no way that my father wanted to expand his family. The head of the Murphy mafia family had sons and another daughter. I’d never bothered to learn about them. I didn’t want to know what I couldn’t have.