It was as if she’d taken a vow of chastity… or never recovered from the trauma of rape.
“Do you think…” I swallow the sour bile in my throat. “Do you think he knew? About her pregnancy? About… me?”
I always thought my father had simply walked away from the responsibility, though Mom had never said that outright, only implied it. I figured he’d been a teenager himself, someone who just wasn’t ready to be a parent. But this—this changes everything. Mom might not have even told him of my existence. Why would she have, if he’d raped her?
Except… he has to know now.
Because he killed her and tried to do the same to me.
Oh God.
I barely hold back a surge of vomit.
My biological father is not only a rapist—he’s a murderer.
Nikolai takes my hand in his again, his touch shockingly warm on my icy skin. “I think he had to know,” he says, echoing my thoughts. “Maybe not from the beginning, but later on, for sure.”
“Because he tried to kill us.”
“Yes—and because of the scholarship you got.”
I blink, not comprehending at first. Then his words filter through. “You mean… he paid for my college?”
“Konstantin is tracing the exact source of those funds, but I’m almost certain about what he’s going to uncover.” Nikolai’s eyes are somber on my face. “It was a private scholarship, zaychik, intended for only one recipient: you. Remember how you told me that your friend applied for it and didn’t get it, despite being even more qualified than you? That’s because it was never meant for her. That money was yours all along.”
Fuck. He’s right. My friend Tanisha had been our class valedictorian with perfect SAT scores, but she didn’t get this full-ride scholarship to Middlebury—I did. I even told Nikolai how strange that was. Except…
“I don’t understand. Why would he do that? Why would he pay for my education if he hated me and my mom? If he… planned to kill us?” I can barely utter the last words.
Nikolai squeezes my hand. “I don’t know for sure, but I have a theory. I think your mother contacted him at some point and told him about you. And I think she threatened him. It was likely something along the lines of ‘if you don’t provide the funds for our daughter’s education, I’ll go public with my story.’”
“You think she blackmailed him?”
At Nikolai’s nod, I sink deeper into the pillows, shaking my head. “No. No, you’re wrong. Mom wouldn’t have done that. She’s not—she wasn’t…” To my shame, my eyes flood with tears, my throat closing as a wave of crushing grief catches me off-guard.
“A criminal? A blackmailer?” Nikolai’s deep voice is gentle as his thumb massages my palm in soothing circles. Tactfully, he waits until I get myself under control, then says quietly, “You have to remember, zaychik, she was a mother first and foremost. A single mother who worked as a waitress, whose earnings couldn’t have covered even a fraction of the exorbitant costs of college education in this country. What would you have done to ensure your child’s future?”
I would’ve done whatever I had to—and most likely, it had been the same for Mom.
“If that’s true, why did he wait?” I ask in desperation. Some childish part of me is still hoping that this is all a huge misunderstanding, that my biological father isn’t a total monster. “Why pay for all four years of my schooling and then try to kill us? If he’d already spent the money—”
“It wasn’t about the money. He’s rich enough to have paid for ten illegitimate daughters.” Nikolai’s tone hardens. “It’s about his career. His run for president.”
Of course. The stakes are infinitely higher now, and while some politicians thrive on scandal, Bransford is an all-American icon of middle-class morals and values, with a squeaky-clean reputation that won’t survive this kind of hit.
Still, assuming all of this is true, there’s something that doesn’t fully make sense. I can see how Mom was a threat to him, since she could go public with her story at any point. But why try to kill me?
How villainous do you have to be to send assassins after your own child? Especially if she knows nothing about you?
Then, in a burst, it comes to me.
“I’m walking proof of his crime, aren’t I?” I say, staring at Nikolai. “A single DNA test, and he’s toast. Even if he tries to claim it was consensual, Mom was still underage at the time of my conception. Sixteen to his thirty-plus.”
Nikolai nods. “At the very least, he’s guilty of statutory rape. It’s the rare case where it’s not his word against hers. No matter how he tries to spin it, what he did is a criminal offense.”
“And he probably doesn’t know that Mom never told me about him. As far as he’s concerned, I can pop up at any moment, publicly claiming him as my father.”
“Afraid so, zaychik.” He tilts his head, studying me intently. “Are you okay?”
I start to nod on autopilot, then shake my head. “No. No, I’m not. I need a minute.” Or ten thousand minutes. Or the rest of my life.
My biological father is a rapist and a murderer who’s trying to kill me.
I don’t know how to even begin processing that.
Gaze filled with understanding, Nikolai squeezes my hand again, then curves his palm over my jaw and leans in, stroking my cheek with the edge of his thumb. “I’ll let you rest, zaychik,” he murmurs, his breath warm and subtly sweet against my lips. “We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”
Closing the small distance between us, he kisses me. His lips are gentle on mine, tender, yet I can sense the hungry possessiveness underneath the restraint. It terrifies me nearly as much as my body’s instinctive response.
I may evade Bransford with his help, but there will be no evading him.
There’s no escape from the devil.
5
Nikolai
Closing the door behind myself, I make a mental note to install some cameras in Chloe’s room, the way I have in Slava’s. Not because I feel compelled to watch her every moment of every day—though that need is definitely there—but because I’m worried about her.
I’ve had my entire life to come to terms with my fucked-up heritage, and there are days when I’m still tempted to slit my own throat. That or get a vasectomy, so the mistake I’d made that night with Ksenia can never be repeated. I wasn’t even aware that the condom was faulty, but it must’ve been.
That’s the only explanation for the existence of my son.
I was planning to go to my office, but my feet carry me to his room instead, propelled by the same compulsion I’m experiencing with Chloe.
Daddy, he called me when I returned home last night. I’d been too distracted by everything related to Chloe to take it in fully, but now I can’t help thinking about that word and the way my ribcage had filled with a strange, piercingly sweet ache. And it’s all because of her.
Chloe Emmons had not only discerned my deepest, most secret wish regarding my son; she’d made it come true.