Page 117 of Sinful Betrayal

But then my attention turns to the final person in the picture. A young girl, around ten, who’s hovering slightly behind Maxim, with dark brown hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that lights up the room?—

“Nina,” I breathe.

For a moment, the rest of the picture disappears, and I lose myself in her smile.

She’s wearing a pink leotard and tutu, and she’s clinging to Maxim as she balances on pointe.

She’s clinging to Maxim.

“So, it’s definitely her?” Danil asks.

I blink, looking away from the photo to find all my cousins staring at me.

“What the hell is this?” I wave the photo in the air.

“That’s what we want to know.” Alexei gets to his feet. “Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That Nina is Igor’s daughter?”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I stumble backward a step.

“Of course, I didn’t fuckingknow!” I roar as I ball my hands into fists. “This has got to be some sick fucking joke.”

“I wish it was, Anton.” Mikhail reaches out to grip my shoulder, but I push his hand away.

I shake my head, my stomach twisting as the dots start to connect.

“Y-you’re wrong,” I choke out

“It looks like Igor perhaps sent Nina as a way of getting revenge for Maxim. Which means, you need to watch your back because he’s planning something.”

My entire body is shaking with rage as reality sets in.

She fucking played me.

“I have to go.”

“Anton—”

I don’t bother sticking around to hear what Mikhail has to say.

I’m suffocating, and I pull at the collar of my shirt, which feels uncomfortably tight as I storm out of the office.

There has to be another explanation for this. There’s no way the last few weeks have been built on a lie because I’m not sure I can survive the heartbreak.

I find Nina sitting at the kitchen table with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her cheeks are stained with tears as she pushes her food around her plate.

She’s still dressed in her dance clothes, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail to show off her long neck.

She looks so delicate and fragile. No one would ever assume that she would be working for one of the most dangerous men in Russia.

“You’ve got some fucking explaining to do,” I growl as I storm into the kitchen and toss the picture down on the table beside Nina’s plate.

She jumps at the sound of my footsteps, dropping her legs down and leaning forward to take a look at the picture.

I fold my arms over my chest, waiting for her to deny it’s her. But then I notice her body tense, and I know it’s all true.

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