Page 111 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

Deception at the Altar

Emmy Grayson

CHAPTER ONE

Gavriil

WALKINGINTOMYfather’s will-reading seven minutes late is satisfying. The old man, selfish as he was, was a stickler for punctuality.

I glance to my right as I walk in. The staggering sight of hundreds of skyscrapers clustered together on a tiny island never ceases to take me aback. New York City, with its gleaming steel and frantic energy, is a far cry from Malibu, where I currently live. Alessandra Wright, my father’s estate lawyer, offered to fly to California or even to Greece, where my older half brother, Rafael, lives. I don’t know what reason Rafe gave for declining her offer. We talk, yes. But it’s usually work. Drakos Development, the largest property development firm in the world, is the glue that binds us together.

Blood certainly doesn’t. That was my reason for telling Alessandra no. I’ve carved out a nice life for myself in Malibu. A mansion on three acres with its own beach, a private jet that can fly me from Los Angeles to anywhere in the world, and a professional reputation I earned through hard work and even harder dealings. I took the North American division of Drakos and transformed it from passable to powerhouse.

I want nothing of Lucifer Adomos Drakos anywhere near my personal paradise. Including this damned will. Family lore says my grandfather named his only child after the devil because my grandmother died giving birth to him. Whatever the reason, he more than lived up to his moniker. He was greedy and brutal. The world is a better place without him.

I turn away from the view, the towers and high-rises like jagged teeth stabbing into the sky, and focus on the two people sitting near the far window. Rafe is reviewing a thick sheaf of papers, his back ramrod straight. His black hair, combed back into submission from a broad forehead, accentuates his narrow face and sharp chin. My mouth twists into a slight grimace as I draw near. He looks more like our father every day, a point I know he wouldn’t appreciate. Neither of us had any love for the man who sired us.

He glances up. Pale blue eyes meet mine. The one and only characteristic we share. It marks us. Rafe rarely displays emotion, so I have no way of knowing if it haunts him the way it does me; looking in the mirror and seeing the eyes of our father staring back.

I hate it.

“You’re late.”

“I am.” I circle around the desk to where a tall, slender woman is standing to greet me. “Alessandra.”

She smiles slightly and accepts my kiss to the cheek. The woman could have been a model, with auburn hair falling just past her shoulders and a jawline that could have been carved from marble. Instead, Alessandra Wright became one of the youngest and most sought-after estate lawyers in the world.

“You look stunning. If you’re free this evening, we could have dinner. Strictly business,” I add with a suggestive smile.

Alessandra rolls her eyes as she takes a seat in a straight-backed office chair. For all our teasing and flirting over the past few months, nothing would ever happen between us. Not only do I not mix business with pleasure, but she’s not my type. One day, Alessandra will want—and deserve—a husband and a family. She’s gotlong-term relationshipwritten all over her.

“As promising as that sounds, I’ll have to decline.” She glances down at her watch and frowns. “Hopefully Michail will join us sooner rather than later.”

I tap my fingers on the plush leather armrest once, twice. Michail Drakos. Another half brother. One neither Rafe nor I have ever met. We learned of his existence this morning after a revised will was delivered by courier. It didn’t escape my notice that our recently discovered brother bears the moniker of a celestial being, just like Rafe and me. Lucifer had a nasty sense of humor.

I’m sure Rafe had an entire dossier put together within an hour of receiving the will. I, on the other hand, spent the last few hours pretending like Michail didn’t exist. No different than the last thirty-two years of my life.

My chest hardens. It hadn’t surprised me that there was another child.

ButTheós, it hurt.

My father had called eight days before he died. The last time we ever spoke. I almost didn’t answer. I still don’t know why I accepted the call. But I answered. The raspy weakness of his voice cut me deeper than it should have as he whispered “Hello,yiós.”

My father was dying. He was dying and, for the first time in years, he’d called me. He’d called meson.

For one moment, the world stood still. I waited, letting threads of hope creep in. Hope for words of apology, of pride, of something other than the decades of scorn that had chased me.

Then time slammed back to its regular breakneck pace with his next words.

“There’s someone I need to tell you about.”

Thinking that Lucifer gave a damn about his bastard son was a moment of weakness. I knew better. When you care about someone, you give them power. The power to control, to manipulate.

To hurt.

Like realizing that my father’s last words would have been about a son born after Rafe but before me. A son invited to today’s will-reading, which means he’s getting something even though he didn’t survive a childhood with Lucifer criticizing his every move. Reminding him that he was less, would always be less.

I brush aside my juvenile pain. Lucifer can bequeath whatever the hell he wants to Michail. As long as it doesn’t involve anything with my share of Drakos Development. I’ll fight that to the highest court in any country and win.

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