Page 107 of Don't Look Back

“Good luck getting Interpol to take it from me.”

She would steal it back herself, then.

“Call Reuben. Make him come here. We need to talk and call off this farce.”

She had little doubt Reuben would come. Waiting for him should buy Rand lots of time.

“Why not go to his villa?”

“Several reasons. First, we need neutral ground, which their villa is decidedly not. Second, it creeps me out. My memories are vague, and everything about the place is unsettling. Third, I don’t want to see Luka. I don’t trust him. Don’t remember him except fearing him. But I remember Reuben. He was a good brother.”

This was all true.

Grigory studied her and then gave a sharp nod. “Why not? He and I have business to discuss anyway.”

Reuben’s arrival was distressingly quick and heralded by the whirr of helicopter blades. She should have realized that billionaires didn’t bother with boats when they could island hop by helicopter.

So much for buying time.

Reuben entered the salon where she waited with Grigory and Aleksandr. For his part, Aleksander showed no interest in Kira and appeared to resent being made to spend even fifteen minutes with her while they’d waited for Reuben. She figured he had important video games to play and guessed he went through the motions of saying and doing the minimum of what he needed to in order to keep his father’s purse strings open.

If she agreed, she had no doubt he’d marry her. It would change nothing in his life except perhaps his residence if they moved to a new estate.

Kira was baffled as to how both families intended to coerce her into agreeing. Did they really think money would be enough for her to accept the horrific arrangement? Were they so deeply embedded in their patriarchal world that they didn’t realize she could and would make her own choices?

She wasn’t Nadia, desperate for power in a life that never held any for her. Nadia likely thought the wealth she’d gain from being Aleksandr’s wife would give her autonomy, not realizing that she had more autonomy as his mistress than she ever would as an official member of the Laskin patriarchy.

Grigory rose from the couch when Reuben entered the room. “We will let you talk in private.” When Aleksandr made no move to follow, Grigory glared at his son. “Come, Aleksandr.”

The young man scowled. “Things were finally going to get interesting.” He stood and followed his father from the room.

“He’s so very charming,” Kira muttered under her breath before facing her brother. She didn’t stand to greet him or move to shake his hand. “I didn’t think you’d come so quickly.”

“Of course, dear sister. Father was disappointed you didn’t request his presence too.”

“I’m not ready to talk to Luka. I don’t know him. But you, I remember. I have a lot of questions.”

“As do I, baby sister.”

She guessed he’d tag her with sister as often as possible, landing the blow that had sent her reeling yesterday over and over. She reminded herself that today wasn’t about family. Everything she was doing was to buy Rand time and to gather her own intel. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were—and who I am—on Friday?”

“I wanted to see if you knew already.”

“And Saturday, when you told me Conrad was a spy, why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I wanted to see if you knew about the spying. If you were here to finish Conrad’s job.”

“What kind of intel could I possibly have that would be of interest to Russia?”

Reuben smirked. “You were abducted last December in connection with a terrorist and artifact smuggling ring. Don’t play innocent.” He stepped forward until he loomed above her seated position. He tapped the puckered red line on her forehead. “You were involved up to your pretty scar. Were you working for Conrad?”

It had never occurred to her that Reuben would believe her role in that was any bigger than it actually had been. “I was abducted because one of the men involved wanted to own me. I’d had another bad run in with him just hours before my abduction. That’s all it was.”

There was more, but none of it was relevant today.

When Reuben said nothing, she tried a different tack. “Was it you who had my portrait stolen, or was that Luka’s doing?”

“Your portrait?”

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