Chapter Eleven
NIKO
I’ve never knowingly taken my hand to an innocent, but the urge to wrap my hands around Emylyah’s delicate throat was almost overwhelming when I confronted her. Getting her away from me was the only choice before I did something I might regret.
Is she an innocent? Of that, I’m not convinced.
My anger still hasn’t subsided, I’ve barely slept, and my men have given me a wide berth since I turned to the comfort of the best Russian vodka. Even now, thirty hours later, I pace the length of my study with my fists clenched at my sides.
Destruction is written into the very bones of this room. On every surface, the physical remnants of my fury have settled in thick layers. Glass from several decimated decanters glitters and crunches beneath my feet amid whiskey and port stains on the carpet. The heavy oak desk, so long a symbol of my discipline, is upended, the contents strewn everywhere.
A paper flutters, caught in the lazy turn of an overhead fan and others have settled in drifts where they’ve come to rest. The only object unscathed is an antique globe, which sits eerily upright as if mocking the chaos and detritus.
There are holes, and gouges, and smears of blood where I punched the drywall in my frustration, and plaster and debris where it exploded on impact with my fist.
I stalk through this self-made ruin, wrath still hot in my veins, unable to find peace even in the destruction I haven’t bothered to clean up.
My eyes are drawn repeatedly to my laptop which miraculously survived, despite crashing to the floor with the contents of my desk. The printout of the marriage certificate might be gone but the downloaded document taunts me. Its very existence still burns in my mind.
A knock at the door breaks my brooding. "What?" I snarl, surprised anyone has the audacity to disturb me.
Darian enters, his face impassive, even as he surveys the unusual mess. "Boss, we need to talk."
I glare at him, but he holds my gaze until I nod in agreement, and he closes the door to give us some privacy.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
"No," I growl, turning away from him to stare out the window. The city sprawls out in front of me, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me, just like I’m oblivious of the cityscape.
Darian sighs, and I hear him shifting debris with his foot. “Talk to me, Niko. I've never seen you like this. What's going on?"
I clench my jaw, battling the urge to lash out at him. Physically as well as verbally. He doesn't deserve it, even though he’s one of the few who would give as good as he gets, and spar with me. Maybe that would take the edge off my anger. But this is neither the time nor the place.
"She lied to me, Darian. Everything about her was a lie."
"Lyah?" he asks, his brow furrowing, even though I’m sure he already knows the answer. I can’t imagine the men have been quiet about my fury and those whispers haven’t reached my brother’s ears. "What do you mean?"
I spin around, my anger flaring again. "She's married. Has been for eighteen fucking years. And that's not even the worst of it. She’s relegated my child to an unrecognized, illegitimate bastard.” The words taste vile, burning my tongue. My son, my firstborn, reduced in the eyes of the world with a single administrative flourish, all because she wasn’t honest with me about the man whose name she still legally bears. It’s not just the insult to my pride or the whiplash of betrayal; it’s the ruthless efficiency with which she’s cut out the legitimacy of my own blood. I’ve spent half my life carefully strategizing everything I’ve built, knowing one day I would eventually pass it all on. But now my heir is tainted by her deception.
Darian's eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise on his usually stoic face. "Married? But how… she’d have just been a kid…"
"It was Lenka’s doing, like that bitch didn’t set me up with Emylyah, too!" I cut him off, running a hand through my hair. "Her husband is some guy named Zack Kincaid.” I pause and point a finger at him. “Look him up, will you? I want to know everything about him. And perhaps you should see if there are any other unsuspecting schmuks in this equation. Who knows how many times her fucking mothers pulled this crap.”
"Jesus," Darian mutters, his expression darkening as he processes the information. "I'll get right on it… and I’ll get a cleaning crew in here,” he says as an afterthought, carefully kicking the heavy base of the glass tumbler to one side with his shoe. “But what’s the angle? Any idea?”
I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. "No fucking clue. That's what's driving me insane. What's the endgame here? Why would Lenka marry off her daughter as a child? And to whom? This Kincaid guy could be anyone."
Darian nods, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Could be a rival family. Or someone with connections we don't know about yet."
"Or it could be nothing," I spit out, though I don't believe it for a second. "Just another of Lenka's sick games. You know what she was like when Emylyah was growing up."
My brother's silent for a moment, watching me carefully. "And Lyah? You think she knew?"
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I want to say yes, to justify the rage that's been consuming me. But the image of her confused, terrified face flashes through my mind. "I... I don't know," I finally admit, hating the uncertainty in my voice.
"Maybe we should bring her back in. Question her properly.” Darian says softly, eyeing me carefully to judge my reaction. I know exactly what he’s alluding to.
"No," I cut him off sharply. "She's still pregnant with my child, whatever the circumstances.”
