The Professional (The Game Maker #1)(25)
Author: Kresley Cole

He grinned. “I have ways, Cuz.”

Why the rush to change his will? “I never asked for that. I don’t want any of Kovalev’s money.” Just thinking about having to deal with that kind of wealth, and the accompanying responsibility, made my necklace feel tight around my throat.

I liked the simple life; people with that kind of money didn’t lead simple lives. “And I have no intention of horning in on Sevastyan’s inheritance.”

“Natalie, I never meant to imply that.” He looked mortified, as if I’d pantsed him. “I’m so sorry if I offended.”

“Oh, Filip, I’m just being overly sensitive.” I confided to him, “The money actually freaks me out.”

“That’s a good problem to have, no? Don’t fret, you’ll get everything worked out with Kovalev. He’s a considerate man, a big softy at heart. He’ll do whatever it takes to make you comfortable here.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Wanting to change the subject, I said, “You and Sevastyan don’t seem to get along.”

Filip gave me a you-have-no-idea expression. “He’s like a vicious guard dog around Uncle Kov, not surprising since the man plucked Sevastyan off the streets.”

That was where Kovalev had found him? The idea of Sevastyan living on the streets as a boy broke my heart. No wonder I couldn’t get a sense of him. Sevastyan was a blend of street and privilege.

“He doesn’t like anyone near Kovalev but himself.” With a charming quirk of his brow, Filip said, “I’d probably admire the trait more if he didn’t use it against me.” When we reached the main floor, Filip steered me down an airy foyer.

“And why doesn’t Sevastyan like you?”

“He resents my education. He never had formal schooling, you know. He hates any reminder of that. Chip on his shoulder the size of Siberia.”

What must Sevastyan think about my advanced degree? Had he felt even a twinge of guilt when he’d unenrolled me?

“Just be careful around him, Cuz.”

The same advice Sevastyan had given me about Filip. “Why?”

He gazed away. “The man’s got some . . . serious issues.”

“Tell me.”

In a lower voice, Filip said, “He’s been to prison and seems proud of it. He’s got these two dome tattoos on his arm, which is mafiya code for doing two stints. One of those times was in a bloody Siberian prison camp. It does things to a man.”

I was speechless. I’d seen those markings on his arm and had had no idea what they signified.

Yet knowing more about Sevastyan’s checkered past didn’t diminish my attraction for him. In fact, Filip’s revelation had just given Sevastyan layers, making me want to peel them away one by one. Once I returned to my suite tonight, I’d fire up that Mac and learn more about the tattoos. Hell, about this entire new world.

“And don’t even get me started on his bizarre relationship with alcohol.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, though I’d already seen evidence of this. Last night, Sevastyan had consumed a drink, but only after abstaining from it again and again.

“Just watch him tonight. You’ll see. But enough about him. Look, if you need anything, you come to me.” Filip patted my hand on his arm. “You’re Kovalev’s daughter, and I owe that man my life.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I was in a bad place six months ago when my dad died suddenly. Uncle Kov gave me a lifeline.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, and I really appreciate your offer.”

I heard laughter and voices drifting from the room at the end of the foyer. I was eager to join the others, but just outside the doors, Filip stopped me.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Natalie. It’s nice to have someone else around who’s Westernized. And who doesn’t hold it against me that I’ve never been to prison!” He laid his hands on my shoulders and smiled down at me, a move that would make most women proffer their panties. “Kovalev has to go into the city tomorrow afternoon. Let me show you around the place—”

Before I could pull away, the doors opened, revealing the Siberian on the other side. My heart leapt—had he been coming for me?

He stopped in his tracks, expression growing lethal. What’d I do now? Then I realized it looked like Filip and I had been about to . . . kiss. I swung my head around to take in the immense dining room and the other guests already inside. About thirty brigadiers.

And all their eyes were on Filip and me, every conversation stalled.

I guessed it was pretty bad when dozens of Russian gangsters got scandalized by one’s behavior. But I hadn’t done anything.

At least, not with Filip.

When Sevastyan’s fists balled, I marched away from both men. Squaring my shoulders, chin lifted, I made my way to Kovalev, my heels sounding abnormally loud in the silent hall.

He was standing at the head of a lengthy table that was covered with dazzling candles, china, and silver. He glanced uncertainly from me to Filip, so I gave him a ready smile. “This is incredible, Paxán. Thank you.” My guiltless demeanor seemed to defuse the situation; conversations resumed.

When Kovalev pulled out the chair to his right for me, he said under his breath, “Anything amiss?”

I murmured back, “Not at all.”

Filip followed, taking a seat beside me. With a laugh, he muttered, “That was awkward, huh?”

When Sevastyan returned to the table and took the seat opposite me, his face was his usual unreadable mask, but that muscle in his jaw was twitching.

Kovalev introduced me to the rest of our dinner companions, more than two dozen men in their twenties and thirties—Yuri, Boris, Kirill, Gleb, then I started losing track. They were a rough-looking lot, but they all appeared to hero-worship Kovalev. Only two other women were seated, Olga and Inya, long-term girlfriends of a couple of the brigadiers.

After introductions, what seemed like an army of servers began conveying platters, while others poured vodka into glittering crystal glasses. Though I wasn’t used to being on this end of service, I forced myself to relax.

“A toast,” Kovalev called, drink in hand. “To my lovely daughter. Who found me against all odds, who toiled and fought to get what she wanted.”

Filip called, “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

When the dinner guests raised their glasses of vodka, I did the same, then brought it to my lips to sip—