Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(12)

“You can’t tell me anything about Summer that’s going to surprise me anymore. She fucked up. She knows she fucked up. I’m not disowning her.”

He watches me carefully, like every word I speak is gold-plated. “No, I would not either. In fact, if not for her using your name and getting taken, I would never know that you were still alive.”

My fingers curl into the edge of the sofa cushion. “What do you mean? How does that add up? I don’t understand.”

“Belevich.”

As soon as he says the Russian poker player’s name, my jaw goes slack. I fucking knew he had inside information.

“What does he have to do with this?” I grit the words out from between clenched teeth.

“His father was a friend. His whole family has been to my home in Russia, and when Dmitri was there, he saw a picture of Irina in my office. It hangs over my fireplace. When he saw you in a shop in Ibiza, he contacted me, saying he’d seen her double. I could not believe it. But when I had you investigated, I had hope for the first time in many years that we would be reunited. But somehow . . . word got out. I had a leak in my organization.”

Belevich is the one who started all of this. That motherfucker. He could have told me. Why didn’t he?

“When the hell was this?” I demand.

“Not long before they took your sister, thinking she was you. They ransomed her back to me, telling me she was you.”

Belevich knew when we played at La Reina. He knew why I was playing. He knew Summer had been kidnapped because they thought she was me. And he said nothing. He and I have a score to settle.

I drop my gaze to the empty whiskey glass and wish for it to refill magically. When it doesn’t, I look up at Federov.

“They really took Summer because they thought she was me?”

His blue eyes are solemn. “Yes. Because they knew I would pay anything to get you back.”

“But . . . Jericho is the one who got Summer back.” I press two fingers to my temple as it throbs with the beginning of a massive headache from trying to process all this information.

“I asked him for a favor. But I did not know the kidnappers learned the woman they held wasn’t you. They tried to ransom her to both you and to me after that. Forge learned who the girl was to you without telling me either. And then he pulled his biggest trick of all.” Federov pauses, and I know what he’s going to say.

Jericho made his bargain with me.

“He married you.”

Right now, in this moment when my spark of love has grown into a raging inferno, isn’t the time I want to remember that Jericho married me under false pretenses. It doesn’t matter. Does it? Because this isn’t about a deal anymore. This is real.

A tendril of doubt curls in my chest, but I mentally brush it away.

“He married me to protect me,” I say, conviction reinforcing my words.

“He did it for an advantage in business. For leverage,” my father says, contradicting me. “But . . . when I saw him after, I wondered if it was still only business. I did not believe a man could stay hard-hearted against a daughter of my blood. I have been in his position. I couldn’t give up Irina, even though she deserved a better man. Forge and I are cut from the same cloth. We take what we want, for our own reasons, and will never apologize for it.”

His comparison is the last thing I want to hear. I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

I grip the tumbler of water tightly, because if I give in to the million other questions on my mind, I’ll lose focus on what matters—Jericho.

Glancing up at the blond man, I ask, “Can’t you get an update? I don’t want to wait here all night, wondering what the hell is going on. We have to do something.”

I drop the photo on the table in front of me, even though part of me wants to keep it. Federov grasps it, presses a kiss to the worn paper, and tucks it away in his wallet.

“Kostya.” He turns to look at the man behind him and gives an order in Russian.

The blond, who must be Kostya, makes a phone call.

The room goes silent except for harsh sounds of a language I’ve never wanted to understand more. When Kostya hangs up, he says something to Federov that causes my father to rise and bite out a terse response. Kostya replies and turns to leave, clearly having been given his marching orders.

“What? What’s going on?”

With a glower settling over his face, my father speaks through gritted teeth. “We have a lead.”

“What kind of lead?” I jerk my gaze from him to Goliath and back again. “Is he okay? Where is he? Who has him?”

“Someone who says they want a hundred million dollars in exchange for his return.”





9





Forge





I wake to the coppery tang of blood in my mouth and the scent of raw meat. The incessant thundering in my head tells me I’m not dreaming. But I’m not dead either.

My shoulders burn, and my arms feel like they’re being pulled from the sockets, dragged down by my body weight. The zip ties bite into my wrists, and my exposed skin drips with condensation as the cool air lowers my core temperature.

I’ve faced worse.

It takes a hell of a lot more to kill a man like me, and tonight, I refuse to fucking die.