Page 161 of The Wrong Brother

“He threatened the child’s mother until she disappeared into hiding, terrified that speaking publicly would cost her life.”

Andrei laughs. It’s polished, practiced, almost as if he expected me to bring this up, and almost convincing. But I know him well enough to see the way his knuckles whiten and one corner of his mouth twitches.

“My half-brother has always had quite an imagination,” Andrei calls, trying to step into my space, smiling toward the cameras.

I stonewall him, holding my posture so perfectly and resolutely that he practically bounces off my side. His face reddens at the embarrassment, and he continues briskly, “For those of youunfamiliar with our family history, Ruslan has blamed me for every disappointment he’s experienced since childhood.”

Several people nod uncertainly. Reporters are holding up recording devices, jotting down notes in short-hand.

“He has always envied what I’ve built, and I understand why. I truly do. But jealousy is a sad reason to interrupt this event.”

The room holds its breath. I can almost feel people beginning to question themselves, beginning to questionme.There were never formal charges made back when he was chasing me out of the state, which speaks to just how little control he actually has.

Because the truth is, back then I was laying the foundation of my empire. I dealt briefly in imported drugs; illegal weapons. He could have made my disappearance from Colorado permanent, but he’s not that competent.

I, however, am.

Turning, I raise one hand, palm up, toward the center aisle. Where Shannon is tucked away between her two guards.

The crowd ripples, shifts, until there’s a buffer around her. Her shoulders are tense, but her chin remains lifted as she looks directly at Andrei. She doesn’t waver. Not once.

The color drains from my brother’s face.

“No...” His voice comes out barely above a whisper. “No.”

Around him, conversations erupt. People point. Reporters immediately abandon their seats, racing down the aisles with cameras raised.

“Who are you, miss?” someone shouts, a mic already pressing through the civilians stumbling with the unexpected movement.

“My God, is he telling the truth?”

“Who is she?”

“Andrei,” I say quietly into the microphone, “would you like to introduce her?”

He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. His composure cracks so suddenly it’s almost painful to watch.

“She’s lying,” he blurts.

Shannon doesn’t move, but her brows draw together, eyes narrowing. She’s realizing that she has him caught, and her lips lift in a smile as she points out, “I haven’t said anything yet.”

Laughter ripples through the audience. Andrei’s face turns crimson.

“Ruslan found some woman and?—”

“My name is Shannon Sheffield.” Her voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t need to be. Most microphones—the ones that matter—are turned toward her now.

“I was twenty-two.” She swallows once. “Andrei told me he’d take care of us.”

The arena grows so quiet I can hear camera shutters clicking.

“When I got pregnant... he tried to make me get rid of our daughter. And when I didn’t, he made sure she disappeared instead.”

The room explodes. Questions fly from every direction.

“Did he abandon the child?”

“Is this true?”