Page 6 of Scarlet Promise
I bite back my sigh, going over most of the will with him, how I’ve been saddled with men who don’t trust me. Who seem to hate me. I mention Denis, but he waves that away. He doesn’t mean it’s inconsequential. Rather that it isn’t important to this. Neither are most of the men.
When I tell him of the setup, he winces.
“And yet you stayed to save the injured, and still, they didn’t turn loyal to you? This Melor has that much influence?”
“They know him,” I say.
His gaze snaps to me, then away.
“I know what you’re thinking?—”
“You’ve no idea what I’m thinking.” Demyan paces, quick, angry steps.
My mouth twists. “You’re thinking that I’m a naïve fool and not fucking ready to lead.”
“Your words, not mine. You trust.” He shrugs. “Is that naïve? I don’t know. I do trust your instincts, but maybe in the role you’re occupying, you need to pull back on trust until it’s utterly earned.”
“And how am I meant to do that when I step into a world already built around someone else?” I ask.
“The men supported Belov, then as his chosen, it should be automatic,” he says.
Then he frowns and helps himself to a vodka, pouring one for me, too, without asking.
I take it. “It seems Melor saw himself as next in line, not me, an interloper?—”
“His boss’s heir.”
“One he’d never heard of.” I grimace and take a swallow as Albert whines softly. I sit back down and place my hand on Albert’s head. “No doubt the old bastard told stories of my mother not bending to his will, of her being weak…”
He nods.
“Melor no doubt turned the men against me, poisoned their already suspicious minds, and then played cozy with me while double-crossing me,” I mutter. “And then of course he went and made Santo the bad guy?—”
“He is.” Demyan’s voice is dark, full of accusations.
“And then Melor teamed with Simonov. And took Alina. To get her back, I need to step down and hand everything over.” I take a sip of the vodka and set it down. “But problem is, it isn’t that simple. There are so many stipulations in the will I’d be walking away from, and he’d still be on the outside looking in.”
Demyan taps a finger against the glass, downs the contents, refills it, and then hurls the bottle against the wall, making Albert whimper and quiver and press tighter against me.
“You fucking got her in this mess,” he snarls. “You.”
He’s beyond furious. I expected this. I’m furious at myself, too, so he can join the fucking club.
“How the fuck did any of this happen anyway?” Demyan demands. “Why would this Melor think she’s important enough to you to take, when he’d know she’s my sister, and crossing me is an exceptionally bad idea?”
“Demy—”
“I knew it was a bad idea letting her stay with you.” He glares at me. “I should have sent for her if she was having nightmares. Upped the security. Come back earlier?—”
“About the importance.” Fuck me. The coldness that emanates from him chills me, and he eyes me with the flat look of a snake. “Melor might have gotten the impression because he thinks something’s going on between us.”
Demyan doesn’t move. “Thinks?”
“As a condition of my inheritance, I needed to be married?—”
“This better not be going where I think it is.” Demyan shakes his head and stalks right up to the desk. “And Melor’s impression is somethingisgoing on. Explain.”
With a long exhale, I say, “Melor thinks we’re married. We are married.”
