Page 46 of The Brutal Arrangement

Self-loathing filled me at that admission. That, too, was true even though I had wanted to believe Katerina could’ve been my first almost-friend.

Damon crossed his arms over his chest. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, the contrast of the white against his taut, tanned skin was impressive. I refrained from staring at the ink marked on his forearms, too tense to familiarize myself with what he looked like in the light of the day. I couldn’t study him when it was this tense.

“Why did you go along with it?” he asked, cool and confident that he’d remain in charge of this situation.

Fuck.

I couldn’t answer that truthfully. The correct reply to that would be to tell them that Katerina was negotiating the coverage of my bills and my mom’s care. If I told these Ivanovs about my mom and the vulnerable position I was in to provide care for her, they could use her against me too. They could use my position as leverage just like Katerina had.

“What’s all this about?”

Another man entered the room, leaning on a cane. Guards and soldiers stepped back, almost as if this older guy had significant clout around here. His narrowed eyes were locked on me as he entered the room.

Maxim and Damon backed up to face him. Or maybe to stop him.

“Father, please don’t overdo it,” Maxim said, distracted from questioning me.

“Go on back upstairs, Father,” Damon said, gesturing for a couple of guards to help him. “We’ve got this under control.”

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

Even though he didn’t appear friendly at all, I couldn’t help but want to frown. He was another Ivanov if Maxim and Damon called himFather, and that meant he wouldn’t be too welcoming of me either. Yet, as I realized he was struggling with a cognitive issue of some kind, seeming agitated and confused, my heart broke at the thought that he could be suffering something just like what my mother was going through. Dementia was a curse I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

The older woman moved forward to assist him back out of the room too. “Grigory, we’re sorry for the commotion, but please?—”

“Shut up, Anastasia,” he roared.

I flinched too.

That anger. It was one of the most heartbreaking parts of witnessing someone in the clutches of dementia.

“I want someone to explain why Katerina Kozlov is here!” He pointed at me, throwing off his questionable balance as hejabbed a finger in my direction. The guard to his left caught him before he could fall, and Anastasia put her hand on his back.

“It’s okay, Grigory,” she told him. Looking at the guard, she firmed her lips. “We cannot allow him to wander like this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard replied as Grigory strained and struggled to get free of them.

“I want to know what she’s doing here!” He snarled at me, clearly mistaking me for the bride I had been sent here to represent. Joann had commented on how similar Katerina and I looked. And it seemed with Grigory’s issues, it wasn’t so far-fetched for him to mistake me as her too.

“Father, enough.” Maxim jumped in to assist his parent out of the room.

“We will talk later,” Damon said, also eager to distance his father from this.

Before he was taken out of the room, still resisting, he craned his neck to face me. Fuming and sneering hotly, he pointed again. “You can’t be trusted.”

I blinked, stunned by the fury in his words.

I wouldn’t make the mistake of ever thinking an Ivanov would trust me.

That’s just fine with me.

I furrowed my brow.

Because I don’t trust any of you, either. And I never will.

18

DAMON

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