The Professional Read Online Kresley Cole (The Game Maker #1)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Drama, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
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Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
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He shook his head.

“So if those bad guys hadn’t headed to the States, would you have kept spying on me from afar?”

“I would have remained in place—protecting you—until your father could travel here to meet you.”

“If you were my sole bodyguard, when did you sleep?”

“While you were in class or at work. When I knew you’d be around others for a while.” That meant he’d gotten even fewer hours than I had. He cocked his head. “I can sleep when I’m dead, no?”

Exactly what I’d thought. “This is a lot for Kovalev to put on your shoulders.” I couldn’t imagine a task like that—having another person’s life in my hands.

“I would do anything he asked me.”

“Is devotion like that common in your . . . organization?”

“He’s been a father to me since I was young. I owe him my life,” Sevastyan said in a tone that told me he would not be unpacking that comment.

“Then in a way, you’re like my much, much older brother.”

Another scowl from the Russian. He didn’t like that remark at all. “I’m only seven or so years older than you are.”

I waved that information away. “And my mother . . . ?”

“I must let Kovalev explain that. It’s not my story to tell.”

“At least tell me if she’s alive.”

I might’ve seen a flicker of pity in Sevastyan’s eyes. I assumed the worst, grief hitting me like a swift stab to my heart. All these years of wondering . . . Now it seemed that I’d never meet her, never speak to her.

Stemming tears, I asked, “Do I have any siblings?”

“None.”

“Grandparents?” Mom and Dad had been older when they’d adopted me, and my grandparents had passed away over my childhood.

He shook his head. “Only your father and a distant cousin you’ll meet.” He rose, then crossed to a marble counter in the middle of the sitting area. With the push of a button, a panel retracted to reveal a stocked wet bar with a full range of bar and stemware. He poured two drinks into cut-crystal glasses. A vodka rocks for himself—and a chilled Sprite for me?

“No warm milk?” I accepted the glass and drank, surly because it tasted so good.

Returning to his seat, he ran a finger around the edge of his glass, but he hadn’t taken a sip. Just as his drink at the bar had been untouched. “I don’t have your preferred tequila.”

“Preferred? I drink whatever folks buy me. I’ve been on a budget.”

Had my comment amused him? “The last budget you’ll ever have, I assure you.”

Because he expected me to spend the family blood money. Reminded of my situation, I said, “I’m having a hard time believing two strange men would really hurt me.”

“They target relatives. When Kovalev started out in the Bratva, their code prohibited members from having a family, from having anything they cared about other than the brotherhood—because family is a weakness that enemies can use against you.”

As I tried to imagine such a brutal world, Sevastyan continued, “That’s why Kovalev sent your mother away. He didn’t know she was pregnant. Not until you started this search.”

“You said my DNA matched his. But why would his have been available?”

“There were others before you, claiming to be fathered by him. Initially, I came to Nebraska to discover if this was some type of scam.” Gazing into his glass, Sevastyan said, “Kovalev never wanted it to be true before you.”

“Why not?”

Sevastyan faced me again. “The others were deceitful gold diggers, cold-blooded and seemingly committed to unemployment. You held down three jobs, all while finishing your master’s degree with honors. You even learned to speak Russian. You wanted to find him, but you didn’t need to. At least, not financially.” Had Sevastyan sounded . . . admiring?

The thought warmed me. Until I remembered that my DNA tied me to a mobster. “There could have been a mistake in the match. A clerical error or something.”

Sevastyan raised his glass to his lips, only to lower it without taking a drink. “Your resemblance to his mother is uncanny.”

I looked like my grandmother. I found myself softening, but not enough to soothe my misgivings. “So what does my father do? In a criminal sense. Run girls? Guns and drugs?”

Sevastyan gave me a look as if my question was the height of ridiculousness. “The bulk of his business is related to real estate and construction. But he also mediates disputes between gangs, and he sells protection to business owners. He does a brisk trade blackmailing politicians. No girls, no guns, no drugs. That’s part of why we’re having this conflict—because he doesn’t want that in his territory.”

“Because it would bring down his real estate values?”

Sevastyan looked like he was grappling for patience with me. “Because it would bring down the quality of life for the people he protects.”

That was surprising. “Okay, so maybe he’s not a diabolical, moustache-twirling villain. But I still don’t want to get mixed up in this. I just want to finish my doctorate, to have a career.”

With my history degree. Though I didn’t necessarily want to be a professor or writer. Had I continued with my PhD because it’d been the path of least resistance?

“Do you think your father wanted to uproot you from your life? Blame Zironoff for this. If not for him, you’d be asleep in your bed right now.”

“My investigator? What did he do?”

Again Sevastyan’s drink almost made it to his mouth, but he set it down. “The greedy little prick demanded money from Kovalev to keep secret his discovery. But we found out he’d already told our enemies about your existence, offering your whereabouts for a price. He willfully put you at risk.”

I swallowed. “Did you hurt Zironoff?”

Eyes gone cold, Sevastyan said, “He took your trust—and your hard-earned money—then used your blood to blackmail a vor. He jeopardized the life that I’ve sworn to protect. Tell me, Natalie, should he not have been punished for the damage he’d done—and prevented from doing more?”

I could read the writing on the wall. Sevastyan had ganked Zironoff. A true mob enforcer. A professional killer.



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