Page 87 of His Ruthless Obsession

I’m displacing my anxiety about seeing Daddy,I told myself and shut my eyes, swallowing against a sudden tightness in my throat.That’s all.

Stop lying to yourself, Elena,she snarled in my ear and a burning sensation rose behind my eyelids. I was going to scream, I was—

The elevator dinged behind me, and I jumped, moving out of the way and toward the window, when Erik’s drawl wrapped around me like a metal net.

“Ah. I see you’ve figured out your father doesn’t want to see you.”

CHAPTERTWO

Elena

Lifting my chin, I turned as slowly as I could manage and gave Erik a once-over.

The big, bulked up Bratva gaped at me as I channeled my father’s signature glare, then flicked my gaze away, and started to walk again. Rage burned and snarled against my chest, a scream of how dare he, even as underneath that, the tumult of memories of my mother and the quiet, life-long fear that she was right, all roiled together.

Erik caught my elbow and, at that moment, I could have punched him.

He seemed to sense that and held up his hands. “Not like that, little Fedulova,” he said in a low and serious voice. “I misspoke in my haste. I only meant I was charged with telling you that there’s a problem. He’s too busy—”

“He’s never too busy for his daughter, Erik,” I said, coming to a halt a few doors down from my father’s office and glaring up at him. “And fine. But where’s my apology?”

“Apology?” Erik teased and my nostrils flared. “Ah, you are so cute when you’re mad. But yes, I am sorry.” His face creased. “He was looking forward to this.” A low laugh scraped from his throat. “We all were. Viktor needs a break.”

"Perfect, so we'll go out and enjoy our day," I said. I attempted to resume my walk, only for Erik to step in front of me and block my path. "Move, idiot."

“Elena, you’re not listening,” he said. I blinked at him. Erik so rarely used my name, preferring to call me either “Little Fedulova,” which is what most of the men called me, or “lisitsa.”

“So, you’ve realized—”

“Your father—”

At that moment, there was a sound of something heavy smashing into a wall and shattering. I jumped and Erik sighed, glancing over his shoulder. Quietly and quickly, I snuck by him on the other side and almost got to my father’s door when I heard a shout inside.

Erik hissed something at me, but I took a step closer, and I felt a jolt as I realized the heavy, almost-soundproof door couldn't drown out the chaos inside.

My father was screaming and ranting, then something else broke.

Raising my eyebrows, I turned back to Erik, who gave me anow-you-seelook.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked and jumped again as something else was smashed.

Daddy did not lose his temper. The closest I'd seen him get angry was when he realized my mother was spinning a web of deceit and lies around me in an attempt to turn me against him. She'd wanted to use me against him, sensing it was the little bitof leverage, a small amount of weakness she could exploit to satisfy her endless machinations and ambitions.

Around the same time, he discovered her lies, affair, drug abuse, and everything else. My mother had tried to lock us in her room, telling me over and over that today I'd see his true face, and then he'd lose his temper and kill us both.

And even though I hadn’t truly believed her lies—I’d been small and some part of me had quaked in terror.

Until I saw my father standing on the other side of a shattered door, surveying the shards as if they told a too-familiar story. Heappeared more sad and tired than angry.

In the end, all he’d done was pluck my mother from a life of ease and luxury in a Chicago lakefront penthouse and plop her somewhere in Russia where his extended relatives could keep an eye on her. She’d been the one to scream and break things and attempt to use me as a bartering chip.

The only other time I’d seen him truly pissed had been at Erik.

Erik had gotten into a fight that landed him in jail, and after my father’s men bailed him out, they’d brought Erik back to our house. My father had been pacing through the dining room, and from where I’d spied from the kitchen, I’d thought he was worried. But when Erik was brought in, surly and unapologetic, I’d watched Viktor go over, pick up a chair, and hurl it at the wall. As the pieces rained down, Erik flinching the tiniest bit, my father had stormed forward.

At that moment, though, our housekeeper had found me and dragged me away.

But not before I saw my father slam his fist into the wall near Erik’s head.

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