Chapter 33
KIR
My immediate reaction to my study door banging open is to reach for the gun I keep holstered under the desk. But when my eyes focus on the grinning face peeking through the door, I smile widely.
“Hi, Dad.”
I chuckle as I stand, stride around the side of the desk, and scoop Freya into a big bear hug. She hugs me back fiercely, then pulls away and shakes her head, a weird look on her face.
“Nope. No ‘dad’. Sorry, I keep trying it on for size. But that’ll never feel right.”
I grin. “Just Kir worked fine for a long time. We can stick with that, daughter .”
She wrinkles her nose. “Eww, why do you say it like that? So weird.”
“What do you mean, daughter ? Is it weird, daughter , when I call you?—”
“Fuckin’ stop ,” she groans, laughing.
I first met Freya and Annika when they linked up with Damian.
The two of them had been scratching out a survival thieving on the streets of various European cities for years.
Slowly, as they honed their talents—Annika's for pickpocketing and break-ins, Freya’s for computers—they started to make a name for themselves as a go-to team for certain jobs.
They ran afoul of Damian at a rich, snobby fundraiser where they were pretending to be catering staff while robbing the place blind—including lifting his watch.
Unfortunately—or fortunately , seeing how things turned out—Damian was taught by me , which means he saw the lift when it happened, and then tailed the two of them to the bar they slunk off to after the heist to gloat over their spoils.
Instead of busting them, the three of them teamed up. And soon, Freya and Annika came to work for me.
It wasn’t until recently that we pieced together Freya’s murky background: her mother, Petra, was the wife of a Norwegian mafia head who I was, unfortunately, doing business with—an abusive, cruel monster.
I know my brief affair with Petra was wrong, even if her home life was a mess.
It wasn’t love or anything close to that.
I think we were just two broken people who found temporary escape with each other—she from her husband, me from the demons still chasing me from my time in Siberia.
Then we parted ways, and I never knew Freya existed—as my own blood, that is—until recently.
But seeing as she’s mainly in Japan now, I’m more than a little surprised to see her without notice, waltzing through my door halfway across the globe from where she calls home.
It’s that thought that has my brow furrowing as I look at her.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my voice edged.
She rolls her eyes. “What, I can’t just bounce in and say hi to my father ?”
“Of course you can, daughter ?—”
“Yeah, we have to stop that.”
I chuckle. “I’m just surprised, is all.”
She grins impishly. “There’s a tech startup here in New York that Hana and I have been eyeing for an acquisition. I'm having a sit down with them tomorrow night to get a feel for their tech first-hand. I thought I’d surprise you.”
Hana Mori, Kenzo’s sister and Damian’s wife, is the head financial wizard of the Mori-kai’s legitimate business interests.
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Well,” I smile. “You’ve succeeded.”
“You still have that .45 under your desk?”
I nod. Freya grimaces.
“Shit. How close did I get to being shot?”
“Close enough that I’d love you to call or text next time.”
She giggles. “What do you want to do for dinner? And I’m staying here while I’m in town, by the way.”
Oh .
The only reason Brooklyn and I have been hiding our relationship is that neither of us wants people to get the wrong impression, for her sake.
I’m well aware how this could look: the young, beautiful dancer sleeping with the much older, wealthy, powerful man—especially if that man is technically her boss, given that I own the company she dances with.
I’m not embarrassed in any fucking way by our relationship, and I know she isn’t either. But still, discretion is good for now.
That said, I’m sure my daughter will have questions regarding the twenty-three-year-old living in my house.
Sleeping in my bed.
Freya frowns curiously at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smile at her. “Let’s do dinner here. I’ll cook. I…” My brows arch. “I might have a surprise for you.”
She stares. “A surprise other than you cooking?”
“You miss a lot when you move halfway around the world, kid. And yes, another surprise.”
“What is it?”
“ It is not an it . That’s your only clue.”
She looks puzzled for a moment, then her eyes widen. “Wait, a woman?!”
I grin.
“Get the fuck out!!” she shrieks. “ Really ? Who is she?!”
I chuckle. “You’ll meet her tonight. Sooner, actually.”
“Holy shit !” she squeals. “Okay, I’m going to go shower off that long-ass flight and get changed—she’s coming here ?!”
I nod and she squeals again.
“This is batshit crazy! You , in a relationship!!” She laughs, giving me another hug. “Okay, I’ll be back and cleaned up soon. I can’t wait to meet this woman!”
Freya darts out of my office and I walk over to the bar cart and pour a drink, smiling.
I bring it back to the desk and start going through notes from Isaak about some of our interests around the city.
Then I get sucked into a black hole regarding the finer points of a business venture he wants us to get involved in with the Drakos Greek mafia family.
The door to my office bangs open again. I glance up, frowning when Freya comes bolting into the room with a robe tied around her, looking totally freaked out.
“The fuck?” I growl, lurching from my chair.
“Some girl!” she blurts. “She just barged into my room and then ran out in hysterics!”
Fucking FUCK.
“Exactly which guest room did you put yourself in?” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“The awesome one, of course!” she blurts. “The big one with the walk-in closet and sick bathroom!”
Shit .
“Who the fuck was that?—”
“ That ,” I growl. “Is who I was going to introduce you to tonight.”
Freya’s eyes bulge. “She’s—wait. Her ?” She blinks, then slowly raises a suspicious eyebrow. “How old is she?”
Here we go . “Twenty-three.”
Freya stares at me for a beat, then lets out a low whistle. “Well. I was going to make a joke about daddy issues, but…”
I glare at her. “It’s not like that.”
She holds up a hand. “Okay. Okay. I’m just…” She frowns. “She’s young , Kir. I’m not judging, I?—”
“Her age is not the reason I care about her. It's not a fetishized attraction. And if you think that’s the sort of man I am?—”
“I don’t.” She says it boldly, without hesitation. “I really don’t, at all.” A small smile twists the corners of her lips. “Did you just say you care about her?”
I shoot her a look. “I did.”
“Like… care -care?”
“I’ve told her about Zavolzhsky.”
Freya’s brows shoot up. “ Woah .”
I should mention that no one knows about my years spent in the Siberian penal camp. Even Annika and Damian only know parts. Freya arguably knows the most, but it's on par with what I’ve told Brooklyn.
“She’s something I didn’t expect, Freya,” I growl quietly.
She nods. Then her face scrunches as she looks down. “ Fuuuck .”
“What?”
“She, uh…” Freya looks up at me sheepishly. “She may have the wrong idea about your and my relationship…”
My brow furrows. “Why the fuck would that be?”
Freya winces. “She may have walked in on me taking selfies in lingerie?”
My mouth sours. “Why the fuck were you doing that?”
“Because my husband is seven thousand miles away!” she retorts. “And I didn’t exactly expect your girlfriend to just barge—Kir?!”
“Stay here!” I snap. “And put some goddamn clothes on!”
It doesn’t take me long to realize that A, Brooklyn is no longer in the house, B, Matvey’s Range Rover is gone, and C, he isn’t answering his phone.
I admire how assiduously he follows my “when she’s with you, think of her as me” order when he's driving Brooklyn around. But I’m guessing that right now, she’s telling him not to answer my goddamn calls, because she barged in on Freya taking spicy pictures for Mal, and completely misinterpreted it, and she’s trying to dodge me now.
Unluckily for her, there's that tracking device in her phone.
I jump behind the wheel of the Aston Martin and roar down the drive.
It’s a mix of emotions as I drive toward Midtown. On the one hand, I’m annoyed about the situation and pissed that Brooklyn would automatically assume the worst and run off like this. But on the other hand?
A slight smile tweaks my mouth.
On the other hand, part of me has wondered—okay, dreaded—that what I feel for this woman is not necessarily reciprocated.
To me, she’s something I never saw coming, and yet has become my everything.
But maybe to her , I’m merely a bit of fun—a rich, powerful older man who plucked her out of her miserable life and lavished her with gifts.
I know that’s not really the case. But it’s been at least partly there, lurking in the back of my mind.
That said…her running out in tears, fleeing the house, actively ignoring my calls and telling Matvey to do the same brings a strange smile to my face as I follow her location to the bar in Midtown.
Not because she’s hurting, but because it means she does feel what I feel.
I tell the valet outside to keep it running before I head in. She’s not in the main bar or the lounge, so I take the stairs up to the rooftop bar.
Which is precisely when the gates of Hell open inside me, and pure wrath and fury thunder through them and out into the world.
Because I see Brooklyn, across the crowded rooftop bar, sitting at a table.
… Being kissed .
It doesn’t matter that she instantly pulls back with a frown. It doesn’t matter that the fucking guy hangs his head, clearly mouthing an apology to her, a pleading look in his eyes.
It doesn’t even matter that as I get closer, shoving my way through the crowd, I realize the asshat who just kissed my girl on the fucking mouth is Roman Nikitin .
He’s a fucking dead man .
My vision is a violent riot of pitch black and blood red when I grab Roman by the neck, rip him off his chair, and send him crashing to the ground. I’m on him in a second, snarling into his face before I bloody his nose with my fist.
He and I have danced this dance before, in the underground ring. But this is no boxing match.
This is me killing him with my bare hands.
My fists rain down on him, smashing his mouth, his eye sockets, trying to destroy his pretty-boy face. He snarls, shoving me off him enough to stagger bleeding to his feet, a look of pure violence on his face.
“You’re fucking dead , motherfucker,” he snarls as he lunges at me. We go crashing into a table, a crowd forming around us. Someone is screaming. All I can see is this fucker kissing Brooklyn, and all I want is to smash his fucking brains in.
“ STOP IT!! ”
The two of us jerk to a stop when Brooklyn lunges between us. She whirls on the motherfucker first, shoving him back.
“ Enough , Roman!!” she spits at him. Just as the smug smile spreads over my face, she whirls on me, too. “And you !” she barks. “ STOP! IT !”
“We’re not fucking done here,” I snarl.
“Ready anytime , old man!” he roars back.
My hands curl to fists. I make a move toward him, but suddenly, there’s a flurry of blonde hair, blue eyes, and small, firm hands pressing at my chest.
“ Please ,” Brooklyn says, her eyes locked with mine. “Enough, please. ”
“For you ?” I hiss quietly. “Yes. For now , yes.”
She exhales, her shoulders sagging. But then my arm shoots out, grabbing her hand tightly in mine.
“But I haven’t even started with you.”
She chokes on her breath as I storm out of the bar, pulling her after me.