Page 32 of Sweetest Sin
“And that’s what she said she wants?” I ask.
“She was extremely distraught. Wouldn’t stop crying and begging to leave. When I suggested she go visit yourbabushkaanddedushka, she agreed.”
While our grandparents lived in Harbor Point while we were growing up, after our grandfather and our dad got into a huge fight over their differences in the way they wanted to run the business, our grandfather walked away, and he and our grandmother moved back to Russia where he started a gas company that’s now worth billions. The only time we see them is when we visit. Brielle has always been close to them, so I know she’ll be in good hands.
“I want to talk to her when she lands,” I say, and then it hits me. “Did she take the company jet?”
With Anthony pissed that the marriage has been called off, the last thing we need is him tracking her down.
“No, I didn’t want to risk anyone knowing she was leaving. I assumed you were going to force her to hold up your father’s end of the deal, so Boris chartered a private jet under a dummy name.”
“That was smart,” I tell her. “Shit’s going to be different around here now that Dad is gone, but you need to understand that our world is still dangerous, and while I like that you’ve grown a backbone, you can’t be doing that shit outside of this house. Someone might mistake it for disrespect.”
“I know,” she says with a sad smile. “Which is why I was thinking of taking a trip after the funeral.”
“Alone?” Matteo asks.
She nods. “After thirty-three years of being stuck in this prison, I’d like to finally see the world,” she chokes out.
“Then, you should see the world,” I tell her. “As long as you bring security.”
11
Dominick
“Dominick, be reasonable,”Carlos Santiago, my father’s former business associate, says, hitting me with a glare that would scare other people. “Your father?—”
“Is dead,” I say for what feels like the millionth time in the last several weeks.
When my father died, I knew I’d have to clean up a few messes, but what I didn’t know was just how shady Andrey Antonov was. When he allowed me to run Antonov Enterprises, I assumed he’d handed me all the reins, but the truth is, he only handed over the ones that made him look good—the property development company, import and export of legal goods, the hotels. What I didn’t see was the shit he did behind my back, like the deal he had with Carlos. And I say it in the past tense because it’s over whether he likes it or not.
“I don’t give a shit how much money you’re offering,” I tell him, leaning forward in my seat and locking eyes with him. “If it has a heartbeat, it’s not coming in or out of my port.”
How my father was able to juggle all the deals he made right under our noses will forever be a mystery. And if I wasn’t so pissed at him and he wasn’t six feet under, I’d pat him on the back because he was smarter than I gave him credit for. I didn’t know why he had thrown a fit when I insisted Matteo take over the port last year, but now, I know. Matteo running the port made it harder for our father to go behind our backs.
“Your father took you under his wing,” Carlos says slowly, “so he must’ve taught you about the importance of making friends instead of enemies.”
“I never was one to get along with the other kids in school.” I shrug, and Matteo snorts out a laugh, reminding Mr. Santiago of his presence.
Carlos sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His intention is clear. I know I should let Matteo handle it, but the pent-up aggression simmering in my veins bubbles over, and before Carlos is all the way to his feet, I’ve rounded my desk, and I have my fingers wrapped around his throat. I shove him back until he’s against the wall, and his eyes widen with fear.
“My father might’ve forgotten to teach me about making friends,” I spit. “But there’s one lesson he instilled in me at a young age.” I tighten my hold against his windpipe, and he struggles to breathe. “If someone is bold enough to threaten you, they’re willing to act on it. And if you knew my father the way you say you did, then you know what he did to anyone who threatened him.”
“I-I …”
I apply pressure to his windpipe—knowing from experience that if I squeeze a little more, I’ll crush it, and it will be game over—while warring with myself. I can kill him and make an example out of him, or I can let him live and risk him making good on his threat.
My conversation with Peyton comes to the forefront of my mind—something that’s been happening since I left her in the hotel room, in shock from my father’s death and not thinking clearly.
“I’m terrified of failing.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Probably. But in my world … failure isn’t an option.”
“I’m not sure I like your world.”
