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Authors: Bella Rose
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in Russian. “I meant no offense. Please allow me to leave you to your work unless you needed me for another purpose.”
“No.” Yuri imperiously waved his hand. “That was my purpose in calling you down here.”
Ivan ducked his head respectfully. “Thank you, sir.”
Yuri didn’t even look up when Ivan took his leave. Anger made every muscle in Ivan’s arms stand out in stark relief. He didn’t speak to Olga on his way out. He was far too angry to speak to anyone.
Chapter Nine
Ivan barely made it home without blowing up. He pounded the steering wheel a few times, cursed in every language he knew, and tried to imagine why Yuri would say such a thing to him. Was Yuri part of the same school of thought as Sergei? Why did these men put themselves so far above Ivan’s humble beginnings? Yes, Ivan was a bastard. He was an orphan. But Yuri Gregorevich had begun life in a Moscow slum. Did he really have room to talk?
His parking job was abominably crooked. He didn’t care. Ivan slammed the car door and stalked across the garage toward the elevator. By the time he reached it, he barely noticed that he was sharing it. At least not until he caught the familiar scent of vanilla and spice.
“I’m not even going to ask,” Emily murmured, stepping to the opposite side of the elevator.
Ivan started to mutter something rude, and then thought better of it. “Why does it matter so much who a man’s father was?” he demanded. “Can you answer me this question? Because I have been fighting this battle my whole life and I still have no answers.”
Emily’s eyes went wide, her face settling into a careful mask as she obviously sifted through her brain for the right answer.
“I’m not going to throttle you for telling me something I don’t want to hear.” He managed to calm his voice enough that he was no longer growling at her like a beast with a thorn in its paw.
“I suppose you might look at it from the perspective that the organization is all based on heredity,” Emily began in a philosophical manner. “These men have always worked with each other. They have raised their offspring in this tradition. Their trust is dependent upon this bond.” She gave a delicate shrug of one shoulder. “It doesn’t mean that men born to other families aren’t capable of being worthy of the same level of trust. It just means the men in the organization aren’t in the habit of taking chances.”
“Well that nonsense breeds stupidity,” Ivan grunted. He folded his arms, feeling disgusted.
Emily stared at the lighted indicator that told him they were currently passing the fourteenth floor. Finally the doors opened. Emily raised an eyebrow at him.
“I was born here in the US,” Ivan told her suddenly.
She looked at him in surprise. “You speak Russian like a native.”
“My mother was a Russian immigrant.” He headed out of the elevator slowly, trying to recall as much detail as possible. “She died when I was seven, but I had already learned to speak Russian before English. Her English was terrible.”
“And your father?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted.
Emily cocked her head to one side. “And that is why you hate my brother? Because he knows who his father is, was claimed by him, and gained his current position simply because he was following in Papa’s footsteps?”
“No,” he argued. “I hate your brother because he thinks all of that makes him better than me.”
Ivan turned and walked away from her. He knew it was childish, but he needed a moment to collect himself. He rarely talked about his past like this. It made him feel insecure and that pissed him off.
But Emily would not be put off. She trotted along behind him. “Did my brother tell you this makes him better than you?”
“Isn’t that why he cannot stand the idea of you and I being together?” Ivan asked, surprised she would not immediately recall that fact.
“I think that’s more about nobody being good enough for a Volkov.
“No.” Yuri imperiously waved his hand. “That was my purpose in calling you down here.”
Ivan ducked his head respectfully. “Thank you, sir.”
Yuri didn’t even look up when Ivan took his leave. Anger made every muscle in Ivan’s arms stand out in stark relief. He didn’t speak to Olga on his way out. He was far too angry to speak to anyone.
Chapter Nine
Ivan barely made it home without blowing up. He pounded the steering wheel a few times, cursed in every language he knew, and tried to imagine why Yuri would say such a thing to him. Was Yuri part of the same school of thought as Sergei? Why did these men put themselves so far above Ivan’s humble beginnings? Yes, Ivan was a bastard. He was an orphan. But Yuri Gregorevich had begun life in a Moscow slum. Did he really have room to talk?
His parking job was abominably crooked. He didn’t care. Ivan slammed the car door and stalked across the garage toward the elevator. By the time he reached it, he barely noticed that he was sharing it. At least not until he caught the familiar scent of vanilla and spice.
“I’m not even going to ask,” Emily murmured, stepping to the opposite side of the elevator.
Ivan started to mutter something rude, and then thought better of it. “Why does it matter so much who a man’s father was?” he demanded. “Can you answer me this question? Because I have been fighting this battle my whole life and I still have no answers.”
Emily’s eyes went wide, her face settling into a careful mask as she obviously sifted through her brain for the right answer.
“I’m not going to throttle you for telling me something I don’t want to hear.” He managed to calm his voice enough that he was no longer growling at her like a beast with a thorn in its paw.
“I suppose you might look at it from the perspective that the organization is all based on heredity,” Emily began in a philosophical manner. “These men have always worked with each other. They have raised their offspring in this tradition. Their trust is dependent upon this bond.” She gave a delicate shrug of one shoulder. “It doesn’t mean that men born to other families aren’t capable of being worthy of the same level of trust. It just means the men in the organization aren’t in the habit of taking chances.”
“Well that nonsense breeds stupidity,” Ivan grunted. He folded his arms, feeling disgusted.
Emily stared at the lighted indicator that told him they were currently passing the fourteenth floor. Finally the doors opened. Emily raised an eyebrow at him.
“I was born here in the US,” Ivan told her suddenly.
She looked at him in surprise. “You speak Russian like a native.”
“My mother was a Russian immigrant.” He headed out of the elevator slowly, trying to recall as much detail as possible. “She died when I was seven, but I had already learned to speak Russian before English. Her English was terrible.”
“And your father?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted.
Emily cocked her head to one side. “And that is why you hate my brother? Because he knows who his father is, was claimed by him, and gained his current position simply because he was following in Papa’s footsteps?”
“No,” he argued. “I hate your brother because he thinks all of that makes him better than me.”
Ivan turned and walked away from her. He knew it was childish, but he needed a moment to collect himself. He rarely talked about his past like this. It made him feel insecure and that pissed him off.
But Emily would not be put off. She trotted along behind him. “Did my brother tell you this makes him better than you?”
“Isn’t that why he cannot stand the idea of you and I being together?” Ivan asked, surprised she would not immediately recall that fact.
“I think that’s more about nobody being good enough for a Volkov.
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