Page 48 of The Bratva's Innocent Forbidden Bride
Since I had promised to keep her in the loop and let her help out as much as she was able, I printed out a new batch of pictures that CJ emailed me. Tati looked up from her magazine at the table set up outside on the big porch overlooking the sea, and eagerly shoved it aside to take the stack of photos.
Making a pitcher of margaritas from a convenient mix in the well-stocked pantry, I brought it out and filled each of us a glass. Letting out a long sigh, I settled into the lounge chair next to her, unable to remember the last time I could relax.
There was no reason to relax, but it was impossible to stay tense and tightly wound with the soft sea breezes, the warm sunshine reflecting off the sand, and the sound of the ocean rolling in and out. Even the raucous cries of greedy seagulls, dive-bombing the water, had me closing my eyes for a brief moment of respite.
“A bit early for drinks?” Tati asked, but still reached for her glass. “You’d think this was a vacation.”
“Consider the next hour that way,” I said, letting the sun hit my face. “Or at least the next half an hour.”
I took her hand, but she still shuffled through the pictures while I dozed, wondering what it would be like if this were an actual vacation and neither one of us had a care beyond wherewe’d eat for dinner, and if there’d be dancing after, or straight home to bed.
It was a nice little fantasy. Too nice, and over too soon.
“I know this guy,” she said, jolting my eyes open. She held up a photo. Russian, not Japanese.
I sat forward with a frown. “That wasn’t half an hour,” I said, but took the picture.
I knew him, too. He was part of a rival family in Moscow that we’d been keeping an eye on since there were rumblings of a possible attempt on our territory.
“How do you know him?” I asked, keeping my voice and face neutral.
She shrugged. “Okay, I don’t really know him. But he was at the house for a meeting once. Maybe twice, with some other guys, but they’re not in any of these pictures.”
“He’s a Rostov,” I said, watching her carefully. Her brows shot together, and there was a slight tremble to her hand as she set the picture down. “So you understand what that name means?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” she said.
“But it’s obvious that there’s no reason for a member of the Rostov family, who’ve been warring with mine, a fact of which your father is fully aware, to be at your house.”
“There could be a dozen reasons,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Name one.” It was an honest request. I was willing to listen, as I’d promised her, but she only sputtered, her mind casting around for anything at all that would make sense. “Just one reason why your father should be entertaining AntonRostov, or for that matter, why he should have had Riku’s second over for tea and cakes.”
She stood up, almost knocking over her half-finished margarita. “Stop being sarcastic,” she said. “None of this is funny.” Her eyes flew wide as she finally registered what I said. “Wait, what? Who is Riku’s second?”
“The man you identified as the shooter,” I told her coldly. So far, her acting skills were top-notch, but I kept my eyes trained on her, waiting for a crack in the performance. “You didn’t know that all along?”
“Of course I didn’t. How could I? I don’t know anything, Kon.” Her pleading tone grabbed my chest and squeezed. God, I wanted to believe her. She only wanted to fight. “I’m not going to pretend I have any idea why either of those men was at my house, but Papa certainly wasn’t giving them tea and cakes. Why are you so set on believing he was working against you?”
“Why are you so set on believing he wasn’t?” I asked.
Her hackles rose at my cool tone, and she stormed back and forth, still hugging herself against a truth she didn’t want to accept.
“Because he would never betray you. He would never betray anyone who didn’t deserve betraying,” she shouted.
This wasn’t just self-protection; she was honestly furious. And I was getting closer to joining her. “Excuse me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you dare put words in my mouth. I never said you deserved to be betrayed.”
“Sounded really close,” I told her. “And at the same time, you admitted your father could betray someone.”
“Then you just admitted you gave him a reason,” she said, stopping her short, quick steps back and forth. “Don’t explode.Just think for a second. Is there any reason he might have believed you were—”
“We were partners in everything,” I said, standing up now, my own voice rising. “There was no reason to keep anything from him. He was the one keeping things from me, apparently. I never would have reason to meet with the second in command of the man who wanted me dead, or a member of a family who’s been trying to overthrow mine for years.”
“He must have had a reason,” she said, pressing her fingers to her eyes as if wracking her brain.
She was so certain, I began to wonder if I was wrong. But the evidence said otherwise, and I reminded her of that.
