Page 26 of The Bratva's Innocent Forbidden Bride
No. I refused to think that Papa had anything to do with betraying Kon, or stealing from him, or whatever else he believed. Kon might want to find Papa, but his reason might end up getting him killed. I had to stick to my guns.
Shaking my head, I turned away, pretending we weren’t in some kind of standoff to continue serving breakfast like it was the only thing that mattered.
“Okay,” Kon said, crossing his arms over his broad chest, barely wincing in pain as he remembered he had an injury. If someone could be so single-minded even while recovering from a gunshot, what chance did I have to outlast him? “Tell me what you know about Riku Yoshida.”
I was pretty sure I didn’t flinch at the mention of the name. “Only what you told me.”
“Never heard of him before you landed in LA?”
Okay, maybe I flinched then, but there was no way he could know I came here solely to find the man. I faced him, standing as tall as I could in the same room with such a giant, and raised my chin.
“You might have shared everything in your life with your children, but you might recall I was kept out of the loop where my father’s business was concerned. Supposedly, that was to keep me safe.” I shook my head and huffed out a breath. “Look where it got me?”
“You are safe, Tati,” he told me for the hundredth time. “That was the whole point of taking you away from the Yakuza’s headquarters.”
“Kidnapping me,” I muttered.
He rolled his eyes. “Regardless, I’m trying to keep you safe. Even now that I’ve caught you in a lie, because who else were you trying to see in that place but Riku? Who else but the head of the organization here? Whether you believe me or not, we want the same thing.”
I hugged my arms around myself in spite of being overly warm and glared at him. As much as I wanted to despise this man who refused to believe Papa was innocent, he was right. We did want the same thing. Just for wildly different reasons. Every second that passed without finding Papa could mean he was in unbearable pain. It could mean his life was slowly slipping away, and I’d never be able to save him.
Did that mean I had to capitulate to Kon? He glared right back at me. I wasn’t used to being interrogated, no matter how benign. No matter how hard I tried to blink them back, a few tears ran down my cheeks.
Kon immediately stepped forward, removing the safe buffer between us. He gently wiped away the tears, shaking his head. As if he didn’t understand me at all. I felt the exact same way about him.
“Would you listen to my father? Really listen to him, if you find him?” I asked, having to drop my gaze. I was already burning up from my winter weather clothes and the hot stove. His intense eyes didn’t help at all.
“I will find him,” he said in such a way that my hope soared. No one argued with that tone, not even the circumstances. There was nothing he couldn’t control or bend to his will. He would find my father, but…
“And what then?” I asked.
He tipped up my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes again. “If he’s truly innocent, nothing bad will happen to him.”
“He is,” I said, wiping sweat from the back of my neck as I gathered my hair into a ponytail.
It was clear he thought I was delusional, but he stopped questioning me. With his fingertip resting under my chin, he gave me a long, proprietorial look that had me tugging at the neckline of my thick sweatshirt. Scorching. Hotter than the stove. I swayed on my feet, about to combust with the urge to whip it over my head and get rid of it.
It was almost like he could read my mind, his eyes dropping to my chest, then back up. A smile curled his lips as his finger trailed from my chin down the front of my throat.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said. Yes, true. “You need to relax.” Very true. “But first,” he said, grinning now, “you need to get out of these clothes.”
Oh, no.
Chapter 17 - Konstantin
I came out charging like an angry bull, with Tati as the red flag I had to chase down. The sight of her swaddled in a baggy sweatshirt and baggier pants, blithely cooking breakfast as if she had lived there her whole life, only made me go harder.
Because I liked seeing her cook an omelet that was big enough for two. I liked that she was still thinking about me with kindness and care. And I didn’t like that I liked those things. So I hit her where it would hurt the most.
Didn’t she want to find her father?
And immediately caved at the sight of the first tear rolling down her cheek. She was worn out, broken from anxiety. If not about me, then about her father and what might have befallen him from siding with the enemy. Still stubbornly refusing to believe Grigor could ever do anything wrong and hating me for suggesting it was possible.
And I hated myself a little bit for that. I just couldn’t push her anymore.
After all, had I gone my entire life without telling a single lie? That was hysterical.
She was sweating under those Moscow-in-winter clothes, and I had a feeling there’d be a nice breeze outside.
