Page 102 of The Games of Madmen

“Do you think he will actually come after you? He couldn't possibly know that the body in his trunk is connected to you two.”

“He suspects that Alyona is involved in some way,” I reply. “He’s been calling her.”

Resting his chin on his hand he says, “He won’t appreciate you attacking his businesses.”

“And we give a shit, why?” Rodion growls.

“You misunderstand. I believe he will back down if you demonstrate how dominant the Vetrov name is in the circles where he’s trying to assert his influence. I’ll make some calls.”

“Z,” Rodion says my name with an urgency that makes the hairs stand up all over my body. He holds up his phone. “A car just pulled up at our gate.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rodion

When we arrive, the sleek black car is still stationary in front of the security gate. We leap out of our vehicle, eager to see who the fuck it is, because it’s not Alyona. She knows the code. The car’s back window slides down silently, revealing our father’s familiar green eyes, peering through the narrow opening.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he says with a playful smirk on his lips. He glances toward the house before continuing, “The lovely Mrs. Potts wouldn’t let us inside. Is she the housekeeper?”

“Not exactly.”

We held off on telling him about Roza until we resolved the issue with Yuri. You never know who might overhear and spread such information over there, and we couldn’t take that risk.

“You didn't call to say when you were arriving,” Z states while entering the code on the keypad for the gate and then saying to me over his shoulder, “I told you we could trust Mrs. Potts.”

“I enjoy surprising you,” our father replies as he lowers his window further, and Ven nods from beside him. “I'll meet you at the house.” As the window rolls back up, his car drives through the gate.

Yeah, we have a surprise for you, too,Grandpa.

As we pull up to the house, his driver steps out and opens the door for our father and returns to the driver's seat.

“You’ve only been here a matter of weeks, and you’re already causing trouble?” our father remarks, unfolding his tall frame from the car and swiping a hand down the lapels of his overcoat.

I can feel irritation bubbling up inside me as I respond, “Well, we would have been here two years ago if you hadn’t insisted that Abram keep Alyona’s whereabouts a secret.”

His eyes flash wide in surprise for a fleeting moment, a glimmer of something like regret flickering across his face. Just then, Ven strides around the car, his expression tense and wary. Z, just as pissed as me, pulls back his fist with a swift motion, and crashes it squarely into Ven’s jaw. The impact sends Ven stumbling sideways, his back slamming against the car’s hood.

A deep growl rumbles from Ven’s chest, his mouth flexing open and shut while his hand checks to make sure nothing dislodged, “What the fuck was that for?”

“Your part in keeping fucking secrets, asshole. We trust you implicitly and you had Abram lie to our fucking faces about Alyona,” I tell him to jog his memory.

Inhaling a deep breath, Ven rolls his shoulders, the fire extinguishing in his eyes. Not many people get away with punching Veniamin Vetrov.

“I thought it best. Yuri already had a vendetta against Diana. If he knew of her involvement with Alyona’s disappearance...” He shakes his head. “The risks were too high.”

Anger laces every word when I sneer, “So, as long as your woman was safe...”

He points a finger in my direction and puffs his chest. “Your woman was also safe. Here. Let me remind you, she asked for help getting out and involved Diana. I didn’t even know about it until Abram came to me.”

“Because she thought she had to leave to keep us safe,” Z barks, flexing his fingers, his knuckles no doubt already bruised from the impact with Ven’s jaw.

“Well, we didn’t have all the information then. Andru has informed me of the rest, and I came straight fucking here to help deal with it. So, unless you want to throw a punch too, Rodion, can we go inside, it’s been a long fucking flight.”

Don’t tempt me.

Mrs. Potts, our new nanny, a chubby woman with silver hair and age lines creating a map over her face, meets us at the front door. Her blue eyes dart nervously between the four of us, sizing up our unexpected arrival. “I apologize for making your guests wait outside,” she says, her voice formal. “But you instructed me very clearly not to allow anyone through the gates without prior approval.”

Z offers her a reassuring smile, his voice calm and gentle as he replies, “You’ve done your job well, Mrs. Potts. There’s no need for apologies.” His soft-spoken charm makes her shoulders relax.