Page 14 of Big Bold Gambler

I feel a strange twist of emotions, imagining this all happening before I was even born. But it’s still a lot to process. “And Gorshkov? He just went along with that?”

Dad’s jaw clenches, his mouth tightening. “No. God, no. He was furious. Furious with the Pakhan for making the decision, and furious with me for taking what he thought was his. He tried to kill me, Jeannie. I survived, but that was the beginning of the end with Gorshkov. I thought I’d killed him then but he has this way of coming back.”

He looks at me, his expression serious and fierce. “Years later, after you were born, I thought he was long gone. But then when you were three months old, he reappeared. We’d just put you down for a nap, and I went to the kitchen to get your mother some tea. When I got back, he was there in your room, standing over your crib, reaching for you.” His voice drops. “He’d heard about your birth and taken it as a personal affront. It was the closest I’ve ever come to losing you.”

My blood runs cold. “And you thought he was gone for good after that?”

“Yes. I thought that time would be the last.” His voice wavers, something raw and broken slipping through. “Your mother got involved then. Begged him to leave us alone. He never could say no to her. For a while he disappeared. But after your mother got sick, he started popping up on my radar again. I think he felt she was the only thing holding him back.”

The pain in his voice makes my chest ache. I’d always thought his protectiveness was just his way, but now it’s like the pieces are all falling into place, each one darker than the last.

“So, that’s why you left? Why you faked your own death?”

He nods, his face hard but determined. “I needed out. I needed to getyouout. I made the arrangements with the Don. He’s the only one who knew I was still alive, and he agreed to keep me under the radar, as long as I stayed on top of parts of his business. And I did. I move the money and that’s it. And I do it all under a false name.”

“A false name?”

He sighs deeply before nodding. “My name isn’t Patrick.” His gaze darkens. “And while I’m at it. Maxwell, your little boyfriend, is involved as well. And his name isn’t Maxwell.”

My head is swimming and it’s not just from being knocked out. “What the hell?”

“Jeannie, language.”

“No! Don’t language me. You’re telling me both of the most important men in my life are mobstersandI don’t even know either of their real name. And one of them is my own blood!”

He grimaces at that. “I’m sorry, honey. I did what I had to protect you. Whatever it took to keep you safe, I would do.”

“So you’re not Patrick the ophthalmologist. Who are you then?”

“My given name is Ivan Patrikov and I work under the Bratva.”

“And Maxwell?”

“Makyl Pavlov.”

I shake my head and fall silent, my thoughts banging around in my head. How could he keep this from me? How mad could I be though if it was all for my safety? And Maxwell? The man I was sure I was falling in love with is a part of the mafia. Has a whole secret identity. It was all too much for any sane person to take in while in the situation I was in. So, I decide to get back to safe territory.

“Dad,” I whisper, my heart pounding as everything starts to make sense, “how did Gorshkov find us?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Jeannie. But I promise you this: even if it kills me, I’ll make sure you get out of here alive. I won’t let him take you. Not now. Not ever.”

Chapter Eight

Maxwell

I’m leaning against the back of the van, cigarette hanging from my lips. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Ashton work for a few minutes. The guy’s a damn wizard when it comes to computers. Can find anyone and anything anywhere.

We go way back—he owes me a favor from ten years ago, and I’m cashing it in now. I don’t care if it’s a broken laptop or pulling off a goddamn digital heist, when Ashton gets involved, things get done. But right now, I’m on edge. My hands are twitching with the need to move, to do something. Sitting still, waiting for him to come through with answers—it’s making me fucking antsy.

“Makyl,” Ashton says, his voice filtered through the screen, barely audible. I wince at the name that I haven’t heard in years. Makyl Pavlov. It feels foreign, like a ghost from another lifetime. A lifetime I left behind, buried deep enough to never need to look back at it. But I’m here, with Ashton, hunting down a ghost that doesn’t let you forget.

“What, Ashton?”

“Can you please bring you tension down a few notches? You’re killing my mood here.”

“Killing your mood?” I scoff. “Sorry, but I don’t give a fuck about your mood right now.”

“Fair, but brooding and stewing won’t end the kidnapping and won’t find Gorshkov.” He sighs and stops typing for a minute to look me dead in the eye. “Do something useful like check the guns or something.”

---