Throne of Vengeance (Throne Duet #2) - Rina Kent Page 0,85
everyone is hardened like us, Kyle. She doesn’t hold a grudge against you—for reasons unknown.”
“The little punk always made people forgive him fast,” Flame says.
“It’s because of the charming face you’ll never have, Flame. Stop being jealous.” My mother said I get it from my father, but, apparently, that’s not Niall and I’m not a Fitzpatrick.
If my father is Russian and has been around long enough to have me, then he should be in his late fifties or early sixties…
The sound of footsteps cut into my thoughts as guards barge inside. Flame straightens.
“They’re Russians,” I say, squinting to recognize whose men they are. The showoff Mikhail. He always has his guards storm in before his majesty comes along.
No idea why he came here in the first place. Wait a fucking second…
I already called him and gave him evidence that ye’re his boy, so if he does want ye, he’ll show up.
Rolan’s words roll in my head with crystal clarity.
My mouth hangs open as Mikhail rushes inside, holding a gun. He’s old, around his late fifties or early sixties, and yet, he’s still in shape, aside from the panting.
“Where is he…?” He trails off when his eyes meet mine.
I see it then, the thing I was too blind to see over the years—the resemblance. Though his hair is sprinkled with white strands, it’s the same color as mine. His angular jaw and the shape of his eyes…they’re the exact fucking same as mine.
How the hell have I not noticed that before? Well, I never had a reason to believe Niall wasn’t my biological father, but still.
Mikhail studies Rolan’s body, and once he makes sure he’s dead, he approaches me slowly, expression softening. His guards remain behind, their guns tucked in front of them.
“You okay?” he asks, his accent thicker than usual.
“Why would you care?” I draw in a breath, then release it through my nose. I have no time for this. I should bribe Ruslan and Katia to give me tips on how to approach Rai without endangering my balls.
“I didn’t know.” He sheathes his gun under his jacket.
“You didn’t know about what?”
“You. Amy didn’t tell me.”
I throw my hands up dismissively. “Well, surprise.”
He watches me for a second too long without saying anything, as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
Is this awkward, or what?
“You were there that night,” I say. “The night she died.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you fucking save her? You were supposed to—that’s why she called you.”
“We were in the middle of an attack, and by the time I got there, she and Niall were dead. There was no trace of you, so I thought you died, too.”
“I did, in a way.”
“I know. That’s why—”
“Save it.”
“But—”
“This changes nothing, old man. The only father figure I have ever had is right here.” I point at Godfather. “He’s the one who taught me how to survive, even if it meant killing to do that.”
I expect Mikhail to show hostility, because he has that petty personality and tends to act up whenever things don’t go his way, but he stares at Godfather and says, “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. He grew up into a reckless bastard.”
“Hey!”
Godfather wraps an arm around my shoulders. “When he was young, he was weak and always felt sick. The other kids ganged up on him.”
Mikhail stares at me with an expression I’m seeing on his face for the first time.
Guilt.
Isn’t that fucking ironic?
“Too much information, Godfather,” I mutter.
He ignores me and continues speaking to Mikhail. “But even though they were way older than him, he kicked, clawed, and scratched them. Who knew that the little boy would grow up to be one of the best we have?”
I clear my throat at the note of pride in his voice. I never thought Godfather would ever speak about me like that after all the shit that went down ten years ago.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Mikhail’s voice holds a genuinely regretful note. “If I knew, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Save your breath, old man. I don’t give two fucks about you or what you could’ve done.”
“I do.” He pauses. “I know we didn’t start off on the right foot, but I’m asking for a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“To be your father.”
I scoff. “Don’t you have two sons already? Why would you want to add another?”
“Because you’re my eldest. My heir.”
“Like hell, I am. In case you haven’t noticed, I have no interest in the Bratva.”