Page 24 of Slipping into the Dark Side

Yakov handed the baby back. “It’s a risk.”

Luerna cited the family motto. “No risk, no reward.”

“No big risk, no big reward,” he corrected. “Despite our fallout, I do care about Yefim. They might beat him and threaten him. But if I get away with this, it will set me up to take over the Rostova’s line. Then Yefim can take over what remains.”

“Why do you want to, again?”

“Because they are the biggest distributors of liquor, and I want to be.” Then he mumbled under his breath. “Plus, I hear they have hidden gold mines.”

The look she gave him made him defend himself.

“A rumor, but worth discovering.”

“Right. Perfect reasons to start a civil war.”

“According to you women, everything can be solved with conversation and tea.”

Luerna smiled. “Prove me wrong.” Her gaze drifted to the window, and she rushed forward.

It was the way she did it that kickstarted his heart. He forced his attention to the papers on his desk lest she catch him looking.

“Oh.” Luerna depressed.

Yakov’s brows knit, but he refused to look up. Tatianna hadn’t come. He hadn’t expected her to ignore a demand from her own father. It was why he requested her through her father, to make sure she’d have to come. But apparently, he had messed up their fragile relationship more than he thought.

Which was bullshit.

Yakov recalled the way Tatianna had leaned into him, how she put up no fight and moaned against his lips. She wanted it more than she wanted anything. To act like love was her only reason for staying with Fedor was ludacris. Yakov hadn’t thought it would be this hard to get her. Tatianna wanted his life; she was envious like everyone else. So why say no to it?

It couldn’t be him. She was just like him.

A knock on the door brought Luerna over. She pulled it back and announced, “Mr. Nevsky for you, Yakov.”

Yakov stood and gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. Nevsky was a man in sheep’s clothing. Years of being low class lingered in the way he dressed. He believed a well-fitted suit he had handed down from his uncle made him fit in. But Yakov could see the subtle signs of anxiousness in the presence of superiority. Even though Yakov was forty years young, he was the one in charge.

Nevsky shook his hand and sat. “I wanted to apologize for Tatianna. She wasn’t feeling well.”

Yakov took a seat. “No worries.” Could she be sick? Should he send her something? What does one send?

Flowers?

Yakov cringed.

“But I was curious what you could want with her?”

Yakov leaned back in his leather chair. Now, it was clear what was going on. He eyed Nevsky, resting his head against his finger, rolling his eyes over the old man. It was one thing to question him. It was another to purposely step in the way of his plans. “It is my business.”

“She is my daughter.”

“She is in my rule, is she not?”

Nevsky scoffed but broke it, trying to smile as if it was funny. “You can’t insinuate you have any dictatorship over my children.”

“I’m not insinuating.”

Nevsky shifted uncomfortably, glancing around as if trying to search for someone to agree with him. But he was alone, and fear began to grow. Nevesky cleared his throat and wrestled up some courage. “Mr. Morozov, she is engaged to Fedor Utkins. I don’t think he would be pleased–”

“Fedor is a friend of mine. I’ve talked to him about my business with Tatianna, and he is fine with it.”

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