Page 129 of Sinful Bride

“Then enlighten me.”

With another sigh, he slumps into one of the rickety chairs at the desk. “I never left her. Never. She was my whole world. She is my whole world. But…” He rubs an empty spot on his left ring finger almost subconsciously. “She was stolen from me. And there was nothing I could do about it.”

“That’s the part I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around.” It comes out in a snarl. I’m done putting up with excuses and bullshit. I get enough of that from the Senate. “You both talk like you—you—didn’t have a say in anything. But you were the heir to the Fedorov Family. You had all the power and influence you needed.”

“I didn’t want it.”

“What?”

He levels his gaze at me. “I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it. And that’s why they took her from me.”

Now, I’m the one sinking into a chair, trying to absorb everything while my head keeps spinning in circles. I can’t help but scoff. “You’re telling me you didn’t want the Bratva? You didn’t want to be a pakhan?”

“I didn’t want that life for myself. For Asya.” His voice softens. “Or for you.”

I’m trying to think of a life outside the Bratva. Without the power, without the money… without the guns or federal agents or enemies lurking in the shadows.

Without the violence.

Without Kostya.

“So you tried to leave,” I say.

“I did. We both wanted out. I never aspired to fill my father’s shoes. I’ve never had the stomach for terrorizing innocent people, eviscerating my enemies, all the stuff that’s required of a man in that position. So when your mother and I decided we wanted to get married, we also decided we wanted to do so?—”

“As civilians.”

Again, he nods. “But my father wouldn’t hear it. He said Asya was a ‘distraction’ taking me away from my duties. My ‘destiny.’ So when my ‘friend’…” He says the word like it’s sour on his tongue. “—came to visit and showed an interest in Asya, all of our fathers saw the perfect opportunity to fix everyone’s problems.”

“Still. You could have fought.” I know in my heart, in my soul, there’s no way I would have ever allowed Kostya to take Daphne from me. I can’t buy this man’s excuses. Just because he’s serving me bullshit doesn’t mean I have to swallow. “You didn’t have to just roll over and take it.”

“You think I didn’t?” He barks a bitter laugh. “You think I just sat there silently while the love of my life was given to my psychotic best friend? Yes, I knew what he could be like,” he adds when he sees the look on my face. “Kostya and I practically grew up together. I gave my father hell for what he was doing. But I also learned what the inside of one of his cells looked like, all because of it. Locked me up long enough to make sure she was out of the country. Out of my reach.”

We brood in silence for a while. The weight of time, of everything lost between us… it’s overbearing.

It’s one thing to find out I don’t share blood with the man I’ve both hated and feared my entire life.

It’s another thing to find out there was a whole different life mapped out for me, once. A normal life.

By—and with—my actual father.

“Just so you know…” Arlo meets my gaze. “I took the first ticket to America when Kostya opened his doors for guests. I got here as fast as I could. And I made sure that, even though I wasn’t there for you like I wanted… even though I couldn’t be there for your birth like I should have been…”

He clears his throat and looks away.

“I still prayed the blessings over you. I still gave you your name.”

Fuck this. I’m done having this conversation. I don’t like the feelings building inside my chest and I sure as hell won’t be having any sort of moment with this man. This… my… father.

So I clap my hands on the armrests of the chair and shove myself to my feet. “I need to go check on some things.”

“Pasha.”

Arlo stands and reaches for me. But before he makes contact, he pulls his hand back and tucks it to his side. Like he’s remembering, accurately, that I’m not the kind of son he stuck around to raise.

“I want you to know… I never gave up. I forged alliances with Kostya and built up my family into international waters so I could have every excuse to come see you and your mother. I did it as long as I could, as often as I could, until I was forced into my own marriage with someone else.”

I frown. “I don’t remember you.” I would, if he really did visit us. I remember most of my father’s—no, Kostya’s—business partners even from my early childhood.

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