Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(31)

Belevich lifts the glass to his lips and sips. “Don’t you want to know what he said?”

I look up to the clouds that float by overhead and then back to the man across from me. “Should I?”

“I would, if I were you. Maybe ask your father what he said to your husband to make him divorce you after he was falling in love with you.”

My fingers clench around the empty shot glass. “Don’t say that. Forge wasn’t—”

“Bullshit. I watched him with you in Prague. That was not an indifferent man. That was a proud man. A man who knew what he had.”

“And then he threw it all away like I was nothing,” I add, my voice dropping to a low rasp.

“Which makes no sense to me.” He drums the fingers of one hand on the edge of the metal table. “If I were you, I would be asking your father what he did. That is the key.” He shoves back his chair and rises. “Now, I am done with relationship advice for the day. I will get you your money.”

Ten minutes later, I lean down to the open window of the black sedan in front of Belevich’s house, a heavy duffel bag weighing down my right side.

“I need a ride. I’m not taking a taxi home.”





28





India





Superman and Spiderman make small talk all the way home, but I’m lost in my thoughts. Was Forge really falling in love with me? Could that even be possible?

Because goddammit, if he was, what the hell did my father say to make him push me away?

Belevich was right. Russian daddy dearest and I need to have a little discussion, because spending the last couple weeks curled up under my covers, or on my couch and unshowered, is not typical India Baptiste behavior. That was brokenhearted Indy behavior, and that shit ends now.

My mission is clear—figure out if my father torpedoed my relationship.

But what if Belevich is wrong? I don’t want to believe he could be. I saw how Jericho looked at me. He didn’t go above and beyond in Prague because I was just a means to an end. There was nothing in that for him. It was all about me. He was all about me.

As for his revenge with Bastien putting me in danger? Screw that. I’m not going to let that motherfucker take this from me too.

Watch out, world. I’m back.

Before I make it all the way home, I text Belevich.



Indy: What is Federov’s number?



I couldn’t type father. It didn’t feel right. Probably because it doesn’t feel like he really is. His story is crazy enough that no one could have made it up. Truth is always stranger than fiction. Plus, Russian oligarchs have more important things to do than spin stories about a missing daughter like she’s the long-lost princess Anastasia.

Regardless, having a father doesn’t change who I am as a person. How the hell did I forget that I’m street-smart, confident, and resourceful? When did I decide to take life lying down? That’s not me. A little time getting used to the way the other half lives, and realizing I’m not an orphan, isn’t going to change me.

No one is holding my sister hostage, and I’m not afraid anymore. I want answers, and I’m going to get them.

We park in front of my building, and I open the door and shoulder the bag. “Thanks for the ride, boys. I’m going to need one later.”

Both men turn around and look at me like I’ve undergone a personality transplant. Nope, I just remembered who the hell I am.

Superman hops out of the car. “I’ll escort you up to your flat, Ms. Baptiste.”

“It’s Indy, and that’s not necessary. Do you two have an end date for your babysitting? Because my schedule’s about to get busy.”

They look at each other, and a silent conversation passes between them while I unstick my legs from the leather seat.

“Not at present, ma’am—Indy.”

“Good,” I say with my first genuine smile in weeks. “Pack your bags, and I hope you don’t mind flying commercial. I don’t have private-jet money just yet.”

They gape at me as I climb out of the back seat and high step it up to my building.

The sun is shining, I’ve got hard-earned cash in my bag, and I’m ready to prepare for phase two—find my father and get an explanation about what the hell happened between him and Forge.

And then I’ve got a few things to say to my soon-to-be ex-husband. I’m not letting the Kraken go so easily.





29





India





The soaring frescoed ceilings, marble columns, and gold-and-cream interior of the Casino de Monte Carlo is just as awe inspiring and palatial as the last time I stepped foot through these doors. I scan the sumptuous gaming floor, but there are no security guards heading my way to throw me out. Bonus.

A casual glance over my shoulder reassures me that Superman and Spiderman are tailing me with just enough distance not to be obviously noticeable. Then again, at a place like this, private security is as common as poker chips, so it’s not like they’ll attract much attention. If anything, they’ll probably add to my cachet.

Have they told Jericho I’m here? The question has been plaguing me since our flight out of Ibiza. Along with . . . Would he come here to find me if he knew? I’m not sure I’m ready for an answer to that one, though.