Chapter 7

“I still can’t believe you burned the damn thing.”

I shrug and take another sip of my lemon water. “Felt fantastic. You should try it sometime.”

Senator Brennan chuckles. “That would be a dream come true. I’ll never understand what my wife sees in that artist… what’s his name…”

“Ewing.”

“Ewing.” He drawls it out over his tongue with a twisted look on his face, as if the name tastes terrible. To be fair, I don’t relish it, either. “Conrad Ewing, that’s right. I swear, I’m seeing his work everywhere these days. Senator Gerhardt even has one in his office; can you believe it?”

As much as I hate it, I can believe it. Nepotism is a hell of a resource for talentless hacks like Ewing.

Sidney Conrad Ewing is a third-rate barely-graduate of Yale’s art program who wouldn’t have even been admitted were it not for a generous donation bestowed upon the university by the wealthy Mr. and Mrs. Ewing.

I know more about the bastard than I care to. It wasn’t hard to pull the records and follow the paper trail.

The only thing I haven’t been able to figure out is how the hell he ended up with a woman like Daphne.

Moya plamya. My little flame.

And my never-ending distraction. The second her face appears in my mind, I shake it away before I lose track of the conversation.

“How is Cora these days?” I don’t care about the senator’s wife on a personal level; it’s just good to know where things stand.

Especially when the dirt I have on Senator Brennan is only as powerful as his obedience to his ball-busting wife. There’s a running joke-that-isn’t-such-a-joke about who the “real” senator is.

He’d never say as much, but I wonder if part of her power over him has anything to do with what she’s like between the sheets.

Memories of Daphne flood my senses. Her soft skin beneath my fingertips, her lips caressing mine… her mewling gasps in my ear… the way she rippled around me…

Brennan wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin. “She’s fine. Still pretty upset over the loss of that damn painting. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I’m sure there will be a new one. A better one.” A worse one would be damn near impossible, I think to myself. “In any case, tell me what you think about the new contract.”

I force myself to focus on why I’m here to begin with. I want to get it all over and done with. This place—gilt-edged tea cups, waiters in tuxedos with stiff upper lips—is not my preferred business environment.

For starters, white tablecloths show blood far too easily.

Brennan nods and leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “I like it. In the way that ensuring our troops are armed with the best of the best, I like it.”

I don’t like the hesitation in his tone. “But…?”

“But there are some concerns. About your sourcing.”

“That’s not a problem, Senator. I’m sure we can figure something out.” I nod to the waiter, who promptly refills my ice water. “Give me a few days to pull the records together for you.”

Brennan nods and tucks into his salmon without another word. I pick at the capers on my own plate. I don’t have much of an appetite.

My siblings, Makari and Sofiya, have been up my ass about tracking down the woman from the gallery. I’ve rebuffed them at every turn. It’s better to leave the past in the past. Enjoy what Daphne and I had and let it go. I’m decent enough to recognize a bad idea for what it is.

I may be a violent bastard. But I’m not a selfish one.

And she’s not fit for my world.

“Actually, on second thought…” I set down my fork and relax back in my own seat. Time to pull the reins out of this idiot’s hands. “I won’t be giving you those verifications.”

Brennan arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Just like I won’t be giving Cora the latest batch of surveillance tapes from your recent… what was it you called it again? ‘Business trip’?”

He coughs on his food and frantically fumbles for his water.

I shrug. “It’s not much, I’ll admit. But even those meager ten minutes we did manage to grab happens to show you with your… shall we say, ‘associates.’”

“Now, Pasha⁠—”

“Interesting how you’re almost always away on ‘business,’ and yet the one time I need to speak with your wife directly, she’s busy? And you’re able to step in on her behalf?” I grin and lean forward, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your sweet new secretary, would it? The one who joined you on that trip?”

Brennan’s face turns beet red.

I thought as much. Or at least, I had my suspicions. Everyone knows that Cora Brennan has her husband by the short and curlies; it’s better to discuss deals and contracts with her in order to get the senator to agree.

Matter of fact, it was she whom I originally scheduled this lunch meeting with. Senator Brennan stepped in at the last minute to inform me that Cora had a “scheduling conflict” and he’d be handling the details himself.

All I had to do was check the surveillance footage we stole to find out why.

“Can’t a man keep his privacy?” Brennan growls, his eyes darting around the room. I don’t blame him. Should anyone overhear, lips are bound to start flapping.

“When he’s stepping out on his wife? No.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Like you’ve got any ground to stand on. I’m sure you’ve got skeletons in the closet aplenty.”

“I’m not like you, Senator,” I answer coolly. “And thank God for that.”

I push my chair out and stand. I’m done talking with this incompetent excuse of a man. I’ll finish the deal with his wife.

Or I’ll out him and cut my losses.

Either one works.

I step away to pace in the glass-arched side lounge and make a phone call. “Mak. It’s me.”

“How’d it go?”

“About as good as can be expected with that dumbfuck.”

“Cora wasn’t there?”

“No.” I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. “But I reminded him about the dirt we’ve got, so he’s still on board. He wants verification of sourcing and I told him to go fuck himself.”

“Might not be such a bad idea.” Mak blows out a puff of air. “Considering the longevity we want with the contract. Want me to build some shell companies and hide the paper trail?”

“Yeah, do it. Cover our bases. Speaking of, how did the reviews go?”

Mak lets out a nervous laugh that sets me on edge.

“Mak…”

“Everything’s fine! Good! Got it all loaded up and funneled through. All numbers accounted for.”

“But?”

He sucks in a breath. “But… the vors kept mentioning you. And your heirs. Moreso the lack thereof.”

I swallow back a growl of impatience. “Tell them to keep their noses in their own damn business.”

“Oh, I did. But you have to admit, the concern is legit. People want to know their investments will continue with the legacy and not just die off with you.”

“Then reassure them that you’ll be taking care of that yourself. Sooner rather than later.”

Mak sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Still, though, we worry about you.”

“Don’t.”

“Says the overprotective big brother.”

He can’t see it, but I do manage to smirk. “Let me worry. You and Sofi find spouses, get married, and have lots of babies. I’ll pick an heir from the bunch, and then none of us will ever have to worry about another repeat.”

The line goes silent. I didn’t mean to dredge up old, dark memories, but here we are.

“Things are different now, Pasha,” Mak sighs after a long pause. “You are different.”

“And I want to keep it that way.”

I don’t need to justify my personal choices to anyone, least of all some corporate underworld busybodies. That’s what Mak is for: getting married and having kids so I don’t have to.

A peek around the corner verifies that Brennan is wrapping up his lunch—and flirting with the waitress—which means I’ll be in the clear to leave without interruption in about a minute. I could leave now, but knowing him, he’ll keep begging for me to keep my mouth shut until I agree just to make him stop fucking talking.

He can’t afford his wife finding out about his dalliances. She’d take him to the cleaners and then some.

I’m suspicious she already knows. The woman is far more intelligent than Brennan gives her credit for.

“You’re also pakhan,” says Mak in my ear. “You have responsibilities in the family realm just as much as you do in the business realm.”

My teeth grind. He means well; I know that. I just don’t like being pressured into doing something I’ve already refused.

“Make sure the shipments get through,” I snap. “Pay off whoever you need to. I don’t fucking care how much it costs; just make sure we’re secured for next month.”

The call ends abruptly. I peek through the glass and check on the senator once more. He’s finally waddled off to do whatever it is pasty sleazebags who hold public office do, giving me wide enough berth to slip out.

Off to one side, I hear female voices rising in argument. Hysterics, really. I don’t look. The last fucking thing I want is to get roped into some hoity-toity family drama. This place is filled to the brim with overdramatic mothers and their equally desperate daughters looking for any excuse to sink their claws into the next unsuspecting, maybe-eligible bachelor⁠—

I pause.

I know that voice.

A familiar waterfall of hair cascades down a very tense back, swaying as she abruptly shoves her chair back and stands. It looks like the woman with her, undoubtedly her mother, is about to rip her a new one.

But then the mother pauses.

And looks over her daughter’s shoulder…

At me.

The light in her eyes and her painted-on eyebrows leaping up her forehead says she recognizes me. And I’ll be damned, but I could swear I recognize her, too. From where, though…?

I don’t catch what they’re saying to each other. I’m too distracted by the actual, tangible presence of the woman who’s been haunting my dreams for four solid months.

Daphne whirls around to see what’s captured her mother’s attention.

Like her mother, she sees me.

Like her mother, her eyebrows fly high and her jaw drops open.

Unlike her mother, however…

She immediately turns and sprints for the exit.