“Preferred? I drink whatever folks buy me. I’ve been on a budget.”
Had my comment amused him? “The last budget you’ll ever have, I assure you.”
Because he expected me to spend the family blood money. Reminded of my situation, I said, “I’m having a hard time believing two strange men would really hurt me.”
“They target relatives. When Kovalev started out in the Bratva, their code prohibited members from having a family, from having anything they cared about other than the brotherhood—because family is a weakness that enemies can use against you.”
As I tried to imagine such a brutal world, Sevastyan continued, “That’s why Kovalev sent your mother away. He didn’t know she was pregnant. Not until you started this search.”
“You said my DNA matched his. But why would his have been available?”
“There were others before you, claiming to be fathered by him. Initially, I came to Nebraska to discover if this was some type of scam.” Gazing into his glass, Sevastyan said, “Kovalev never wanted it to be true before you.”
“Why not?”
Sevastyan faced me again. “The others were deceitful gold diggers, cold-blooded and seemingly committed to unemployment. You held down three jobs, all while finishing your master’s degree with honors. You even learned to speak Russian. You wanted to find him, but you didn’t need to. At least, not financially.” Had Sevastyan sounded . . . admiring?
The thought warmed me. Until I remembered that my DNA tied me to a mobster. “There could have been a mistake in the match. A clerical error or something.”
Sevastyan raised his glass to his lips, only to lower it without taking a drink. “Your resemblance to his mother is uncanny.”
I looked like my grandmother. I found myself softening, but not enough to soothe my misgivings. “So what does my father do? In a criminal sense. Run girls? Guns and drugs?”
Sevastyan gave me a look as if my question was the height of ridiculousness. “The bulk of his business is related to real estate and construction. But he also mediates disputes between gangs, and he sells protection to business owners. He does a brisk trade blackmailing politicians. No girls, no guns, no drugs. That’s part of why we’re having this conflict—because he doesn’t want that in his territory.”
“Because it would bring down his real estate values?”
Sevastyan looked like he was grappling for patience with me. “Because it would bring down the quality of life for the people he protects.”
That was surprising. “Okay, so maybe he’s not a diabolical, moustache-twirling villain. But I still don’t want to get mixed up in this. I just want to finish my doctorate, to have a career.”
With my history degree. Though I didn’t necessarily want to be a professor or writer. Had I continued with my PhD because it’d been the path of least resistance?
“Do you think your father wanted to uproot you from your life? Blame Zironoff for this. If not for him, you’d be asleep in your bed right now.”
“My investigator? What did he do?”
Again Sevastyan’s drink almost made it to his mouth, but he set it down. “The greedy little prick demanded money from Kovalev to keep secret his discovery. But we found out he’d already told our enemies about your existence, offering your whereabouts for a price. He willfully put you at risk.”
I swallowed. “Did you hurt Zironoff?”
Eyes gone cold, Sevastyan said, “He took your trust—and your hard-earned money—then used your blood to blackmail a vor. He jeopardized the life that I’ve sworn to protect. Tell me, Natalie, should he not have been punished for the damage he’d done—and prevented from doing more?”
I could read the writing on the wall. Sevastyan had ganked Zironoff. A true mob enforcer. A professional killer.
Leveling his gaze at me, he said, “Understand me, girl, I will eliminate any threat to you, pitilessly.”
I wondered how many other men Sevastyan had killed. I wondered why I still couldn’t manage to be afraid of this man. Instead, I found myself feeling . . . protected.
“Zironoff set you up to be murdered, but still you won’t understand.” He exhaled a weary breath. “I can’t wait to hear your moral American outrage.”
I tried to drum some up. But Zironoff had gone to a group of lethal thugs, planning to profit off my dream of finding my relatives. He’d leaked the confidential information I’d entrusted to him, knowing I might be killed.
So I shrugged. “Do svidaniya, Zironoff.” So long and good-bye.
Sevastyan’s gaze flickered over my face. Observant, watchful. Then one corner of his sexy lips curled.
My heart thudded at his half smile. If he ever truly smiled, I’d probably have a coronary. Quelling the urge to fan myself, I asked, “So, do you have a mob name? Like Alex the Butcher or Al the Shark or something?”