Page 101 of Marked (Russian Sinners 1)

“Did you know, Anastasia,” Boris continued and I was surprised he used my name, instead of my mothers, “that Alexandra and I were lovers before she met your father?” I frowned, not understanding what he was getting at. I understood his English but couldn’t quite grasp the meaning. Or I didn’t want to. “Yes, we were quite a couple. I wanted to marry her.”

“Liar,” I spat out. “You are a sick psychopath and a liar.”

He laughed. “You are probably right about the psychopath. Hatred after your mother left me turned me into it. But I’m not a liar.” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

I glanced at Dimitry, trying to see if he knew what was going on. This Dimitry in front of me was a different man from the one I fell in love with. He was harsh, ruthless, and unmoving. There wasn’t an ounce of emotion on his face. But I knew it was his facade, his armor.

I placed my palm against his back; it was the only thing I could do to show him that no matter what, I still loved him.

Boris’ phone rang and just when I thought he was going to hang up, the line was picked up.

“Hello?” My dad’s voice came through the speaker and I froze.

“Mr. State’s Attorney,” My father’s title on Boris’ lips was a mock. “I have your daughter.”

Two heartbeats, and my father’s voice choked out a strangled word. “Anastasia?”

“Dad, I’m fine,” I assured him, although Dimitry and I were anything but fine right now. I couldn’t imagine what Dad was going through right now. He had enough worries to last him a lifetime.

“Yes, mini Alexandra is fine,” Boris interrupted. “Now, Mr. State’s Attorney, could you enlighten your daughter for us please?”

“About what?” My dad asked in a pained voice.

“She doesn’t believe her mother would fraternize with someone like me. Yet, your daughter is clearly Dimitry’s whore.” He laughed maliciously. “I guess like mother, like daughter.”

A muscle twitched on Dimitry’s face and I pressed my palm harder against him, willing him to remain still. I didn’t care what Boris called me. I cared about getting out of here alive with Dimitry.

“Yes, Anastasia,” my dad’s voice was strong and I loved how he called me by my name. It was a mini fuck you to Boris. “Your mother dated Boris before she accepted my marriage proposal.”

If he told me snow was actually purple, I’d be less shocked than hearing this news. Well, that was just weird.

But what can you do? We all make mistakes, right?

I turned my eyes to Boris and saw triumph there.

“Okay, so she dated you before my dad,” I countered. “But you should really learn to move on, Boris. Nobody likes a man who doesn’t know how to let go. You know what I mean?”

“Anastasia,” Dimitry and my dad spoke in warning at the same time. They were right, of course. But I was sick and tired of being abducted, tortured, smacked around, and choked.

“You must have your father’s spirit,” Boris spat. “Because Alexandra never spoke defiantly and disrespectfully like that.”

“Maybe you didn’t know her that well,” I hissed back.

“Milaya, don’t taunt him right now,” Dimitry murmured low. Damn it, I really hoped we made it out of here alive. Because I wanted to hear Dimitry’s endearments for rest of my life.

My dad started speaking over the phone. “Anastasia, listen to me. What I am going to say next doesn’t change anything for me. I love you. No matter what happens, just please remember that. Okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” he made me feel like I was a little girl again. Tears pricked in my eyes. “I love you too.” I stared at the phone Boris held like a picture of my dad would appear… or my dad himself.

“That’s a sweet goodbye,” Boris mocked.

I had to admire Dimitry for keeping his cool. Not a drop of sweat on his forehead while I was perspiring, on the verge of a panic attack. I gripped the hem of Dimitry’s jacket and it reminded me of the night when Sergei’s house was attacked. I was panicked then too but he saved me, calm and reassuring.

“Boris, now listen to me before you make another mistake. There was one thing Alexandra didn’t tell you when she left you and accepted my proposal,” my dad was speaking in an even tone, but it was like each word pained him to say. “She was pregnant with Anastasia.”

Silence followed. The words hung in the air, sinking like a ton of bricks on all of us.

Then my dad threw the final stone. “She is your daughter, Boris.”

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