Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(30)

“Nope, just going through a divorce.”

His eyebrows shoot upward. “That’s something I didn’t expect to hear.” He tilts his head to one side. “When did that happen?”

“After Prague. It’s not important. I’ll take the money and get out of your way.”

His expression guarded, he steps back into the white stucco villa. “That’s not the Russian way. Come, I will teach you. If you want your cash, you will drink with me.”

I release an annoyed sigh and follow him inside. I’m not about to walk away without my five million this time.

Belevich’s villa is a wide-open floor plan with white stucco walls and red accents. He leads me across the tile floor out to the pool that’s in the center courtyard. He snaps out an order in Russian, and a woman in white slacks and a white blouse hurries off.

“If you would prefer the ocean view—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “This is fine. I don’t need to see anything but my money.”

He gestures to a seat at an ornate metal table. “So, who ended it? You, I presume.”

I grip the sun-warmed arms of the chair and pause in the act of lowering myself into it. “Drop it, or I leave.”

“You would leave five million dollars behind just because you don’t want to talk about it . . . Hmmm . . . I think my guess was wrong then. He ended it, and you were not ready to say good-bye.” Belevich sits across from me, smoothing his goatee with his thumb and forefinger. “I wonder why he would do such a thing. Then again, Forge is unpredictable.”

I push up from the chair, about to make my point and leave, but he waves me down as the woman returns with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. Not shocking. Then again, I’m not going to turn it down if he’s going to keep probing about Forge. Maybe it’ll help numb the pain.

“One drink, and I’m gone.”

“You could use more than one. You look like shit.”

With a fake smile pasted on my face, I bare my teeth at him. “We already covered this ground.”

“Just being honest.”

I glance up at him as he splashes booze into the glasses. “Don’t worry about trying to be charming or anything. I’m not in the market for ex-husband number two, and never will be.”

“Ah . . . Bitterness is hard to overcome.”

“Save it.”

He hands a glass to me, and instead of waiting for whatever he has to say next, I toss it back, relishing the smooth, cool flavor of the liquor.

“You need teaching. You didn’t even wait for me to make a toast.”

I hold my glass out to him. “I might be Russian by blood, but it’s not like I got an instruction manual.”

He pours me another shot and lifts his own. “I’m surprised your father did not urge you to go to Russia. He would want you protected at all costs.” When I shrug, Belevich tilts his head again. “He does not know about the divorce, does he?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Not very smart,” he says before adding something in Russian that there’s no way in hell I can repeat back to him. Instead, I tap the rim of my glass against his and shoot the vodka.

“If your father knew you were without protection, he would have many things to say about it. I’m surprised Forge did not tell him so he could send his people to look after you. If you need help finding security, I know a reputable agency. Given what happened in Prague, I do not think it’s safe—”

I silence him with a raised hand. “Security is out front in a black sedan, blocked by your gates. I’ve got a babysitter from Forge whether I want one or not.”

“Then why . . .” Belevich’s eyes narrow. “I do not understand what Forge is thinking then.”

“I don’t have any answers for you, and I don’t care.” The second part is a lie, and we both know it.

Belevich leans back in his chair, balancing on two legs like he did in the vet’s office. “I would have sworn . . .”

“What?”

He purses his lips, and I consider pouring myself another shot as I wait for him to speak. “I would’ve sworn Forge had feelings for you. In Prague, he did not act like a man who wanted to divorce his wife.”

The ache in my jaw intensifies with every grind of my teeth. I’ll be lucky to have any left at this rate. There’s no avoiding this conversation. No matter what I do, Belevich isn’t going to drop it, and I want my money.

“I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. He blindsided me the day after we got home.”

Belevich rubs his thumb over his lip. “Interesting . . .”

“To you, maybe.” I reach for the bottle, but he snatches it off the table before my fingers touch the glass.

“Don’t you think the timing is suspect? You were in danger, he was in danger, your father was there, and then you come home . . . and it’s over?”

“What’s your point?”

Belevich settles his chair back on four legs and pours himself another shot of vodka, neglecting to fill mine. Asshole. “Did your father speak to Forge?”

“Of course.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”