Page 32 of Hostage of the Russian
“I call it collecting on a debt.” He moved closer, noting how she didn’t retreat despite the obvious tension radiating from her small frame. “Though I’m beginning to wonder if the debt was more calculated than I initially believed.”
Something flickered across her features, too quick to identify. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I want the truth, Azriel. All of it. Who you really are, what you know about your father’s business, and why a woman smart enough to graduate summa cum laude would be genuinely surprised by any of this.” He gestured toward the scattered documents.
She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing the edge of his desk. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a steel he’d only heard glimpses of before. “I want the truth, too. About who you are, what this organization really does, and what my father’s involvement means for both of us.”
Kostya studied her face, searching for tells, for the micro-expressions that would reveal deception. But Azriel had always been difficult to read, her emotions carefully controlled even when she was fighting him. “You might not like what you hear.”
“I’m tired of living in the dark.”
Fair enough. He moved to the bar cart in the corner, pouring two glasses of scotch despite the late hour. “The Nikolai family controls shipping operations along the Great Lakes, from Chicago to Toronto. We move everything from luxury goods to information, and we do it better than anyone else because we understand that true power comes from controlling the flow of valuable commodities.”
He handed her a glass, noting how her fingers trembled slightly as she accepted it. “Your father managed one of our smaller operations, overseeing the distribution of certain pharmaceutical products to private buyers. Nothing too dramatic, certainly nothing that should have attracted federal attention if handled properly.”
“Pharmaceutical products.” Her voice was carefully neutral.
“Pain medications, mostly. The kind that wealthy individuals prefer to acquire without involving insurance companies or nosy physicians.” Kostya settled into the chair across from her, studying her reaction. “Danny was reliable for nearly three years. Punctual, discreet, reasonably intelligent about covering his tracks.”
“And then?”
“Then he got greedy.” Kostya took a sip of his scotch, savoring the burn. “Started skimming product, selling to his own contacts, keeping profits that belonged to the family. When we confronted him, he claimed to be experiencing financial hardship. Medical bills, he said. Debts he couldn’t manage.”
Azriel’s knuckles were white around her glass, but her expression remained carefully blank. “So you decided to take his daughter as payment.”
“He offered you.” The words came out sharper than he’d intended. “Spoke about your intelligence, your education, suggested you’d make a valuable addition to the family. At first, I thought it was desperation talking. A man grasping at straws to save his own skin.”
“But now?”
“Now I’m wondering if it was a strategy.” Kostya leaned forward, close enough to catch the subtle scent of her shampoo. “Danny Hartford strikes me as many things, but a loving father isn’t one of them. Men who care about their daughters don’t offer them up to criminals as bargaining chips.”
Something raw flashed through her eyes before she could hide it. “You don’t know anything about my relationship with my father.”
“Then enlighten me.”
She drained her scotch in one swallow, the burn making her eyes water. “There is no relationship. I haven’t spoken to him in over two years. I moved to Chicago specifically to get away from him, and I’ve been supporting myself ever since.”
Kostya absorbed this information, filing it away alongside dozens of other small details that hadn’t quite fit together before. “Yet you insisted tonight that marrying you should clear his debts.”
“Because that was the deal you offered.” Her voice rose slightly before she caught herself. “You said I was payment for what he owed. If you’ve already collected your payment, then the debt should be settled.”
“Unless the payment was part of a larger strategy.”
“What strategy?” The question came out like a whip crack.
“Placing someone inside my organization. Someone smart enough to gather intelligence, attractive enough to hold my attention, and innocent enough that I wouldn’t suspect ulterior motives.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the antique clock on his bookshelf. Then Azriel laughed, a bitter sound that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
“You think I’m some kind of spy?”
“I think your father is more cunning than I gave him credit for, and I think you’re more dangerous than either of us realized.”
She stood abruptly, pacing to the window that overlooked the darkened gardens. “If I were working with my father, would I have fought you so hard? Would I have tried to escape, argued with you, made your life difficult at every opportunity?”
“If you were well-trained, yes.”
“And if I were some kind of criminal mastermind, would I be stupid enough to get caught snooping through your private files?”
