Page 35 of Disguised as Love

An icy cold took over my heart and my veins.

Rurik looked at Malone. “Your friend will not be here for long. He will get tired and return to his homeland, just as you need to return to yours.”

Then, he got up, moving toward Mama before I could reply.

I could barely breathe. I felt like throwing up. I felt like dragging Malone from the room and demanding he find us a way out. But how would that help me? I was Raisa Leskov whether I was here or in the United States. Rurik knew where I was, so unless I intended to give up everything I’d accomplished and go into hiding, there was no way to escape him. And my work was important. The photovoltaic nano cells could change the course of energy consumption and our world with it. I would never be able to hide if I was developing it. My name was tied to the new technology, and working on it in secret would just lead the wolves to me.

My brother took the seat Rurik had vacated, smoke coming in from the gardens with him. His look was angry and sullen as he leaned in and hissed out an old proverb, “Revenge is the sweetest form of passion, ‘Isa. They will all learn we are not theirs to command. Father learned it. His friend will, too.”

My heart sagged with grief at his words, at the insinuation that he’d somehow taught father a lesson. I still didn’t want to believe he was behind Papa’s death.

“Tell me the truth, Malik.” I looked him in the eye and whispered, “Was Papa’s death a heart attack?”

He glared at me, looking over to where Rurik had Mama’s hand in his before journeying to Damien who was moving a pawn along the board while Malone watched.

“Don’t let your imagination get away from you. It won’t do anyone good, most certainly not you.”

Then, he got up and left the room again.

I was suddenly exhausted from the fear and sadness and tension that had filled me for two days now. I wanted the safety of my bed back at Stanford. I wanted to wake up with this all having been some bad dream brought on by too much wine. I wanted?for not the first time in my life?to belong to another family. One that led a simple life somewhere in the middle of America with church on Sundays and where the most dangerous thing about family dinners was whether Aunt Mae had kept the mayo out too long. For a few years, I thought I’d escaped, but it was clear I never would. Even if I hadn’t come back, even if I’d done as Papa had ordered, this life would still have yanked at the claws embedded deep in my skin and dragged me home.

Cruz

YESTERDAY’S SON

“The beginning was so easy

Do whatever to survive

In the middle of my story

All I want is to feel alive.”

Performed by Lifehouse

Written by Jason Wade

Volkov had said something to Raisa that had upset her. She’d gone pale, eyes darting about the room as if looking for an escape, and her weasel of a brother hadn’t helped. I needed to end this charade of a chess game and take her out of the room before she broke. I needed to get us both away before I did something stupid, like pull a gun on these men and put a target on my back that would never go away.

The world would be better off without them, but I’d killed a man once with hatred in my blood, and it still haunted me. I’d done everything in my power from that moment on to bring justice without ending a life. Only if and when it was completely necessary did I choose to kill, and even now, I forced myself to do it with a calm that could never be questioned.

I eyed the chessboard, no longer interested in stringing Damien along. The game could easily be ended in three moves. I made the first of them, and Damien’s eyes squinted, recognizing it. He stilled before his eyes met mine with hatred.

“I thought you said you didn’t like chess?”

“Liking it and knowing how to play it are very different things,” I replied, unable to keep the twitch from my lips.

“Did he catch you unawares, my boy?” Volkov left Manya’s side to take in the game. His eyes met mine, shrewd and calculating. “You know Alekhine’s Defense?”

I shrugged, and he laughed.

“Lesson delivered, Damien. Never underestimate an unknown opponent,” he said to his son, but Damien didn’t like it. He was pissed that I’d shown him up.

Volkov turned to me, taking me in as if it was our first time meeting.

“I just figured out who you remind me of. An American singer I once had the pleasure of meeting. Chantelle Malone.”

My blood went cold at my mother’s name coming off his lips, and it took longer than it should have for me to respond. “I don’t know who that is.”

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