Page 118 of Inked Adonis

Considering he’s walking around paying off the women in Samuil’s life to leave him, I wouldn’t say he’s Team Samuil.

I push the door to Sam’s home office open, not really expecting to find him, but there he is.

He’s kicked back in a chair, clad in a navy suit, his hands steepled under his chin. He’s frowning at his laptop so intently that he doesn’t even see me in the doorway.

“Sam?”

He blinks away from the screen, his eyes lifting to me slowly.

For a moment, it feels as though he’s looking right through me. Like his head is somewhere else entirely.

“You’re home,” he says simply.

“So are you. I wasn’t sure. You didn’t answer when I—” I wave it off, suddenly unsure. The man I woke up with this morning felt touchable. This version? Impossible. “It doesn’t matter. I need to talk to you.”

He reaches out with one heavy hand and closes his laptop. The snap of it shutting makes me flinch. Just last night, he told me I should bring anything and everything to him, but now, I can’t help but feel like I’m interrupting something I shouldn’t have.

His hair is shorter than it was earlier today and his soft beard has been shaved back into a shadowy stubble. This morning in my bed feels like a different life. A different woman. A different man.

Maybe that’s why I perch on the edge of his desk and reach for his hand. It’s only once his fingers wrap around mine that his blue eyes clear. Finally, he focuses all of his attention on me, running a thumb along my knuckles. “What’s going on?”

“There’s not really a good way to segue into this, so I guess I’m just going to go for it.” I take a deep breath. “I just met your father.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice drops an octave, setting off every warning bell in my body.

“The man who gave you half of your genes—I just ran into him at Lincoln Park. Or, really, he ran into me. Well, he didn’t run into me, he just—” I press my hands to my hot cheeks and force myself to exhale. “I’m rambling, but it’s only because I’m probably still in shock.”

Death threats have a way of throwing off your equilibrium, I’m finding.

Sam squeezes my wrist. “Calm down,krasavitsa. Start at the beginning.”

“I don’t want to calm down.” The laugh that tears from my throat sounds unhinged. “I want to break things. I want to scream. I want to understand how the hell you grew up with that man and survived.”

“You really did meet my father,” he mutters under his breath.

I laugh again—just like I did at the park. This time, the wild sound catches in my throat, coming out more like a sob. I slide my clammy palm to my flushed neck. “I can’t believe that just happened. I mean, what the hell is up with that park? The police should post up down there. It’s full of shady people.”

“What did he say?”

I expected Sam to charge out the door the second I told him, chasing after his father. I also expected him to push some super-secret button under his desk that would bring steel bars hurtling down over the doors and windows.

But he’s perfectly at ease. Relaxed, even.

He has to know what his father is capable of, and yet…

“He offered me money to leave you,” I say quietly. “A million dollars to walk away. Maybe I should be flattered. That’s a lot of money for someone like me.”

“And what did you tell him?” Sam asks evenly.

“I—” I study his face, trying to decide if he’s serious. Everything about him says he is. “Is that a real question? I laughed in his face and left. Obviously.”

Is that relief I see flashing in Samuil’s eyes? As if I’d ever accept a dime from his father?

“I don’t think many people have refused him,” I continue, remembering the way Leonid’s face had twisted with rage. “Because he did not look happy. Actually, I know he wasn’t happy. Unless murder threats are his love language.”

Samuil jolts to his feet. “He threatened you?”

This is more of the kind of reaction I expected. Apparently, I should’ve led with the murder threats.

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