Dealing Her Final Card(37)

“So what are your orders, Your Highness? How shall we make sure your brother does not succeed?”

Vladimir abruptly stopped. He’d been wrong about Breanna.

Could he have similarly been wrong about Kasimir, overreacting to his brother’s betrayal?

It was an accident. His brother’s voice had been muffled, humble, on the phone the next day from St. Petersburg. When you wouldn’t believe me, I was angry and drunk at the airport bar. I didn’t realize the man sitting next to me was a reporter for the Anchorage Herald. Forgive me, Volodya.

Vladimir’s hands tightened into fists. But he hadn’t accepted the apology. He’d been angry, humiliated, haunted. And he feared his stupidity might jeopardize the Siberian mining rights that were about to come through, rights that could make or break the fledgling company. “If you can’t trust my leadership, we should end this partnership.”

“Leadership? I thought we were supposed to be equals,” his brother had retorted. When Vladimir maintained a frosty silence, Kasimir had said harshly, “Fine. I’ll keep the rights in Africa and South America. And you can go to hell.”

Vladimir had been angry enough to let his brother go without telling him about the Siberian rights worth potentially half a billion dollars. He’d effectively cheated Kasimir out of his half.

Perhaps... He took a deep breath. Perhaps Kasimir had some cause to seek revenge against him.

“You will do nothing.” Now, Vladimir stared out the window toward the palm trees and blue sky. “My brother’s operation in Alaska does not affect us. Leave him alone. May the best company win.”

“But, sir!”

“Xendzov Mining can win in a fair fight.”

“Of course we can!” the man replied indignantly. He continued in a bewildered voice, “It’s just that we’ve never tried.”

“No more dirty tricks,” Vladimir said harshly.

“It will be harder—”

“Deal with it.”

The man cleared his throat. “You were expected in St. Petersburg today for the signing of the Arctic Oil merger. How long do you wish us to delay...?”

Vladimir gritted his teeth. “I will be at the office tomorrow.”

“Good.” He audibly exhaled. “With ten billion dollars on the line, we don’t want anything to—”

“Tomorrow.” Vladimir hung up. Tossing his phone on his desk, he left the study, with its computers and piles of paperwork. Walking outside to the courtyard, he stopped by the pool. Closing his eyes, he turned his face toward the bright morning sun. He felt the warmth of the golden light, and took a breath of the exotic, flower-scented air.

I think the man I love is still inside you.

He’s dead and gone.

Are you sure?

Slowly, Vladimir opened his eyes. He looked up at the twenty-million-dollar mansion that he’d bought as a refuge, but which had felt like a prison.

Bree Dalton had brought it to life. As she’d done to him.

But what right did he have to keep her prisoner?

He’d told himself she deserved it. She was the one who’d betrayed him ten years ago, then foolishly wagered her body in a card game. Let her finally face the consequences of her actions.

He paced around the edge of the pool, then stopped, clawing back his hair. But she’d offered her body in desperation. He’d abandoned her without a penny in Alaska, with men threatening them for money. And yet, even under that pressure, Bree had managed to come through the fire with a soul as pure as steel.

He still wanted to find those men and break their legs, their arms. Every bone in their bodies. But there was something he wanted even more.

He wanted Breanna.

His long-dormant conscience stirred, telling him he had no right to keep her. If he truly believed that she’d never meant to betray him, that she’d wagered herself only to protect her little sister, then he should let her go. If he kept her as his slave, it would make him no better than the criminals who’d imprisoned her with debts. He was selfish, but not a monster.

Wasn’t he?

Pushing the thought away, he pulled out his cell phone and made a few calls. One to an investigator. The other to his secretary, to arrange a Russian visa. Then he picked a wild orchid from the garden and went back inside the house. He’d given his household staff the day off, after Mrs. Kalani’s reaction to his treatment of Bree yesterday. So the enormous kitchen was quiet as he made her a breakfast tray. Putting the orchid in a vase, he walked up the stairs to their bedroom.

Breanna was still drowsing in bed. But as he pushed open the door, she sat up, tucking the sheet modestly over her naked breasts.

“Good morning,” she said shyly.