Page 23 of Brazen King

“Oh hey,” I say, attempting a casual tone.

“Have you been sleeping all day?” she asks, her voice shifting into concern as she catches up to me.

“Um, pretty much. It was a late night,” I admit, willing the heat to dissipate from my flaming face.

“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” She presses a cool palm to my forehead. “You feel like you’re burning up.”

Forcing a nervous laugh, I wave her off. “I’m fine, really. I just took a hot shower.”

“Okay,” she says skeptically, and she loops her arm with mine as she joins me on my way to dinner.

“Papa said you had a harder time getting into the King compound than you thought you would,” she says, glancing at me from the corner of her eye as we walk.

Again, the heat of embarrassment creeps up my neck at the small deception. Sure, breaking in wasn’t a cakewalk, but I did do it. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Papa about the deal I made with Killian, so I intentionally made it sound like I couldn’t get past his guards. As far as our father is aware, I didn’t even get inside the house.

“Yeah,” I say evasively, keeping my eyes on the dining room door to avoid meeting my sister’s gaze.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get him next time. I have faith in you,” she says vehemently.

“Thanks.” I really am lucky to have the family I do.

My sister is so supportive, my father and mother strong, capable parents who have honed me into the woman I’ve become. And though the weight of our empire rests heavily on my shoulders, I couldn’t ask for a better family to have my back.

Tatiana and my mother help take my mind off of last night’s failure as we laugh over dinner and a glass of wine.

After, we move into the living room to relax. And the open space with vaulted ceilings and wall-to-wall windows that look out across the city skyline leaves me in a better mood. Tucking my feet up underneath me, I can finally have a few minutes of quiet without my thoughts turning to Killian and my task ahead of me.

“Mm,” Mama says around her freshly baked cookie, as if suddenly recalling something important. Covering her mouth with three fingers, she chews quickly so she can get to what’s on her mind. “You girls need to pick out dresses for the charity event coming up.”

“Another one?” Tatiana asks, echoing my thoughts. “We just had one.”

“Yes, well, I think it’s important with our businesses doing so well that we take time to give back,” Mama insists. “This one’s a new one I just finalized.”

“What’s it for?” I ask, plucking my own cookie off the plate on our white marble coffee table.

“Bringing clean water to Africa.” She beams, her high cheekbones rising in a way that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle.

“It’s a good thing we have a saint like you for a mother,” Tatiana observes. “It balances out all the violent tendencies we get from Papa.”

I laugh. “I think you mean the tendenciesIget from Papa. Who’s ever heard of apakhanwho can’t stand the sight of blood?” I tease good naturedly. But in truth, I’m glad my sister is the one who will take charge when my father steps down. Her aversion to bloodshed will make her a careful leader. She won’t waste lives needlessly.

And with my skill set to back her up, I think we might actually make a pretty powerful succession—regardless of our gender, which men feel the constant need to point out as a weakness. I love that Papa’s never thought so.

“Hey, I can—” Tatiana starts to argue defensively.

But before she can finish her sentence, the elevator doors open, announcing our father’s return. She stops short, and we all turn as one, confused by his early arrival.

And by his thunderous expression, I can guess that something went wrong.

“Boris?” Mama asks in concern, setting her half-eaten cookie aside.

“That bastard! I want him dead! If I were ten years younger, I would wring his damn neck with my own bare hands!” He mimics the motion with his hand, his face turning redder by the second.

“Papa!” I’m honestly stunned by the fit of rage.

I’ve never seen my father lose his temper so completely, and he storms into the living room like a bull in a china shop.

“Who, Boris?” Mama asks, striding over to him and stroking his cheek in an effort to calm him down.

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