Chapter 9 Foundation #3
Evelina had an absurd moment of thinking she needed to ask him about his flaws.
But this was neither a date nor a conventional interview, and the fact was, the very nature of the purpose behind their conversation was flawed by the standards of the society in which they lived.
It hadn’t been all too long ago she’d still struggled with that.
Funny how tragedy and grief can change a person’s perspective.
She set that reflection aside for a later, more appropriate, time. “I assume you’re prepared for an uphill fight? Because we both know I’m the unpopular choice here.”
A smirk teased the edges of his lips. “Then it’s a good thing the seat of pakhan isn’t decided by popular vote.”
She smiled back, but one more question demanded asking.
“And how do I know, or perhaps why should I believe, that you aren’t actually more interested in taking that seat for yourself?
That your goal isn’t to crush the biological child and add that to the list of reasons the clan should back you instead? ”
Artem chuckled and stretched out his legs, as if settling in.
“If that were my goal, ma’am, I’d have this house surrounded while we chatted and eliminate all three of you this very night.
Your death would come by my hand, of course, because I couldn’t claim it otherwise.
But that’s all I would need to simply snuff out the last of Pakhan Mikhail’s line and her closest allies, isn’t it? ”
Evelina saw Otto’s natural scowl deepen in her peripheral vision even as a flicker of anxiety twisted in her gut. Because Artem was right, that was all he’d need. Shit.
Artem raised his hands, palms open and fingers splayed, in a universal gesture of surrender. “Making a point.” He carefully lowered his hands back to his lap. “When we leave here, all of us alive and that aforementioned ambush nowhere in sight, that’s how you’ll know.”
She huffed. “Then I guess an allegiance between us doesn’t start until tomorrow, and only presuming I’m still alive.
” Tomorrow… Friday was going to be a big, busy day in a lot of ways.
She’d only be home for half of it, but the morning was bound to involve another round with her bastard cousin.
He’d be expecting her to have inadvertently forfeited her inheritance and was certain to be livid when he learned last-minute that she’d circumvented his plot to steal it all.
Evelina drummed her fingers on the armrest of her chair, new thoughts popping up like air bubbles in water.
“Lina?” Otto never had been one to miss a change in her demeanor.
She moved to prop her chin up in her hand but caught herself before she could add weight to her healing arm, straightened, and said, “I need blueprints.”
A beat of silence greeted her.
“Blueprints?” Artem repeated.
She nodded. “Otets couldn’t give up his games when he wrote his will, so he didn’t just leave me things like a normal father might.
” She almost winced when she heard her own words.
It had been drilled into her how to refer to her father in nearly all settings since she could talk, and only after she’d moved away with her mother and Otto had she begun untraining herself to speak a little more casually.
Which meant only with herself, and Otto, did she not always fall into old habits.
But there was no sense dwelling on that, so she continued.
“He left the main house to Pyotr and me equally—we each own fifty-percent. Except right at this moment, Pyotr thinks I’m ignorantly letting the clock wind down on accepting my half, and that by close of business tomorrow it’ll all be his. ”
Artem scowled. “Which is why you needed to meet with that lawyer.”
“Precisely.” Evelina waved a hand. “It’s done, signatures submitted.
I got the email receipt of confirmation before we were out of the garage.
The house is as mine as it’s going to get for now, and the next thing I need to do is establish very clearly which half I’m staking ownership of.
” Because Pyotr was just asshole enough to try claiming the half with her suite, or declare some odd boundary of ‘the middle fifty’ or something. I need to be prepared.
She needed to stop playing catch-up.
Artem and Otto exchanged looks, then nods, and Artem faced her again. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Assuming you want to enforce the invisible boundary, though, that might get trickier.”
Otto grunted. “And then there’s the issue of staff.”
Evelina sighed. “Right.” The estate had essentially promised to maintain their pay while it was sorted, which meant on-site employees could expect regular payments to be deposited or otherwise issued on Friday.
And from there, it was up to whomever inherited everything.
Except they were people, so of course legally, no one had inherited them.
She drummed her fingers again. “I trust Kirill enough,” she said.
He’d stood at her door for hours and confirmed he’d chased off a ‘sketchy’ maid who swore she’d been told to come clean the room.
Which Evelina had most certainly not asked anyone to do.
“But given the whole assassination thing, I have reservations about most of the rest.” Maybe Kat would be interested in a venue change?
Doubtful. Kat loved the chatty, relaxed vibe at her dive bar.
“You could have staff investigated,” Artem suggested. “We can talk to people, and the techs can dig into their digital histories. Anyone suspicious should be easily sorted out. All we need is permission.”
Evelina blinked at him. She kept forgetting Artem was more than one man. She was too used to only having the people she could tangibly see in front of her. “You have the manpower for that?”
“I do.”
She drew a breath and raised her chin, trying to project poise and strength.
“I’m going on a last-hoorah shopping expedition this weekend—upgrading my wardrobe.
I leave tomorrow afternoon, return Sunday evening.
I want the information waiting for me. That will be your first assignment, stacked on top of making sure my personal residence within the main house remains unviolated while I’m away. Understand?”
Artem pushed to his feet, stepped around so that he was beside her chair, and lowered to a knee. “I’ll get it done, ma’am.”
Evelina stared at the back of his bowed head and prayed her expression didn’t give away how lightheaded she felt.
She was sitting in a worn, faux-leather chair in someone else’s home, yet a man technically old enough to be her father was bowing to her.
And maybe, for the first time, ‘ma’am’ didn’t rub her so wrong.
The way he’d said it sounded downright respectful, like a title that carried authority.