Page 68 of On Your Knees

“How can I serve you?” I ask, settling into my chair, my voice calm despite the storm brewing inside me.

Lazarus nods, clearly pleased with the tone of our conversation, like I’m playing right into his hands. “I’ve got a rat in my outfit.”

I keep my expression neutral, refusing to tip my hand too soon. “Who do you suspect?”

His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, it’s like he can see right through me. It’s unnerving, that kind of cold, calculating gaze. "I’d hate to think it’s anyone in my immediate family, but Enzo has been acting strange lately. He’s taking private meetings.”

I’m figuring out in my mind if I should tell Lazarus what I know. “Have you had him followed?”

Lazarus nods slowly, as though considering his next move. “Do you think I should?”

A chill runs down my spine, and my heart pounds in my chest. “What do you know about Christopher Matthews?”

He shrugs, as if the question is hardly worth considering. “He helps us, we help him.”

I lean back in my chair, deciding to push just a little further. “And the Russians?”

A flicker of disgust crosses Lazarus’ face. He shifts in his seat, clearly agitated. “What about the filthy Russians?”

This is my moment. I pull out my phone, scrolling to the picture I took at Club Throwdown. I tilt the screen toward him. “Saw your man Enzo with Christopher there the other night. They met with Yuri Chekov.”

Lazarus’ eyes narrow as he looks at the photo. It’s a shot of Christopher, deep in conversation with Enzo and Yuri. His expression tightens, anger flashing briefly before he masks it. “I see,” he says, his voice low and measured.

He stands abruptly, straightening his jacket as if brushing off the whole conversation. “You’ve been very helpful, Father.”

I watch as he strides out of my office, his men trailing behind him like shadows. The door closes softly, but the tension in the air remains, thick and suffocating. My heart slams around in my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

What is Christopher up to? And what’s his connection to the Russians? I stare down at the phone in my hand, my mind racing.

The pieces are coming together, but the full picture remains terrifyingly unclear.

Chapter 34

Evangelina

I settle on my sofa, the warm weight of a glass of red wine in my hand as I try to unwind after dropping Nate off with his father. The apartment is quiet, and I let out a long breath, thinking about all the questions swirling in my head. Questions I needhimto answer. The priest.

It’s time for the truth. Time for him to finally confess.

I’m about to take another sip when there’s a knock at the door, the sound sharp in the stillness. My heart picks up its pace. I know who it is. Benedict. My mind races with everything I need to say, everything I’ve been holding in since our last encounter.

But when I open the door, it’s not Benedict standing there.

It’s Christopher.

A cold wave of dread washes over me and I try to slam the door in his face. He stops the door from closing with his foot, and he pushes his way inside.

“Christopher, what are you doing here?” My voice is steadier than I feel, but barely.

Without a word, he barges past me, not even giving me the courtesy of stepping aside. He’s always been like this, so used to taking up space, demanding control. How could I have ever married this man?

“Come in,” I mutter under my breath, sarcasm coating every word. I close the door and turn to face him, my stomach knotting tighter with each second.

He strides into the middle of my apartment, his eyes scanning the space, but then he stops, turning sharply to face me. His gaze pins me in place, his expression cold, calculating. "Where’sthe father?" His voice drips with accusation, and for a moment, I falter.

"What?" My pulse quickens, and my face must give something away because his lips curl into a smirk.

"You've always been a shit liar, Eva," Christopher says, his arms crossing over his chest in that infuriatingly confident way of his. He leans against the back of my couch like he owns the place, like he still owns me.

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