Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (115)

“This is important, Isaak,” she says, closing the door behind her.

“I don’t have time.”

“Do you have time for Camila?” she asks. “Because that’s what this is about.”

I pointedly avoid Bogdan’s eyes as I glare at my mother. I still haven’t forgiven her for keeping the secret of my father’s crime for so long.

“What is it?” I growl.

Bogdan vacates his seat for Mama to sit down heavily.

“Camila… she’s torn,” she starts. “It’s clear she has feelings for you, but there’s something muddying the waters. Something that’s pulling her elsewhere.”

“Mama, I’m going to say this again: I don’t have the fucking time for this.”

It’s not strictly true; I just don’t want to give her any more fuel. When this is over and Maxim is gone, I don’t plan on holding Camila here against her will.

I could. Easily. Shamelessly.

But I won’t.

“I had Gavin Hardwick look into her,” Mama says.

I frown. “The private detective that Otets used to use for outside jobs?”

She nods. “I’ve kept in touch with him over the years. He did this as a favor to me.”

“Because he’s always wanted to fuck you.”

“Isaak!”

She looks shocked, and honestly, so does Bogdan. I don’t give a shit, though. She should know better than to push the topic when I’ve made it clear I’m not interested in what she has to say.

“He’s a decent man, contrary to what you seem to believe, and he has never had designs on me.”

She speaks like she’s from another century. It makes me snort with laughter. Her eyes crinkle with hurt, but I don’t apologize. The impulse was drummed out of me when I was thirteen years old.

“What did your old beau have to say about Camila?” I ask.

“She has a sister in New York City. Her sister married quite young and had two sons.”

She stops there and looks at me pointedly. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Bogdan looks between us as though he’s scared someone’s going to pull a knife.

“And a daughter,” I add without thinking.

Mama shakes her head. “No. Her sister gave birth to two boys. She doesn’t have a daughter.”

I narrow my eyes. Camila had mentioned a girl on numerous occasions. Why would she lie about a nonexistent niece?

Then it hits me.

And when it does, I feel like I’ve been railroaded by a fucking train going at two hundred miles per hour.

Mama sees the realization on my face. “You must be patient with her,” she says quickly. “Allow her to tell you the truth on her own. She needs—”

“She hasn’t told me shit all this time. What would change her mind now?”

“You. You are the only one who can make her change her mind,” Mama insists. “I know you’re angry with me, Isaak. I understand why. But I am still your mother and you have to trust that sometimes, my advice might make a difference in your life. I only have your best interests at heart.”

I get to my feet. Bogdan does the same.

“Isaak?”

“Go find her sister. I want an exact address.”

“Er, right. I’m on it,” Bogdan says, looking nervous. He’s at the door when he turns around and looks back at me. “We don’t know that the girl is her daughter.”

My hands clench into fists. I remember something suddenly: the night outside the restaurant on the Thames, when she stripped in the car, I saw something on her. Tiny silver stretch marks notched at her hips and around her waist.

And I remember something else very, very clearly: the first time we fucked, those marks weren’t there.

My anger curdles in my chest. I eye Bogdan. “Don’t we?”

He swallows. “I’ll let you know what I find.” Then he’s gone.

When we’re alone, Mama slowly gets to her feet and walks over to me. “There’s no point being angry about this, moy dorogoy,” she says, using a nickname for me she hasn’t used since I was in diapers.

My eyes flash to hers. “Don’t tell me how to react. And don’t ever fucking call me that.”

Then I brush past her and head straight to Camila’s bedroom.

I’ve stayed clear of it for days now, giving her the space that I promised. It was a self-serving promise. One I only made because I knew she would come to me eventually.

But this new information has thrown a spanner in the works.

And I’m done being lied to.

Just before I slam through her door, I hesitate. I breathe through my anger, my jealousy. I pace back and forth remembering my father’s training.

A man who can’t suppress his emotions can be goaded, manipulated, and used.

A man who can’t suppress his emotions can’t read his enemy because he’s too lost in his own head.

I will not be that man.

Once I’ve regained full control over myself, I walk into her room calmly. She’s lying on the bed on her belly, surrounded by books. Her bare feet are in the air and I can’t help but admire the curve of her perfect ass. When she hears me enter, she rolls over and sits up, eyes wide.

“Camila.”