“Whatever mistake I made in the past, none of the same variables apply now. I’m not making a mistake again.”
Ivan’s lips twisted condescendingly. “Says the man whose wedding is in three weeks. The wedding that will secure your entry into the family you’ve searched for for ten years, an ultraconservative clan who would reject you at the slightest whiff of scandal.”
Antonio shook his head. “And you didn’t even wait until all the legalities were concluded and you had your family name back to indulge your desire for this black widow.”
Ivan nodded. “You are risking everything you’ve dreamed of and planned for all your life by associating with this woman at this critical time. And worst of all, it seems you don’t realize you’re doing that.”
Oh, he did realize. Especially in the past week, since he’d dropped his precautions, had been surprising Scarlett at work, insisting on taking her out, then to and from home, no longer able to bear getting there or leaving separately, or any other secrecy measures.
When she’d at first refused to relinquish their precautions, he’d insisted he knew what he was doing. Which he certainly didn’t. The only thing he knew was that he could no longer compartmentalize her presence in his life. He wanted her with him in every possible moment, couldn’t bear wasting the time he could have with her on secrecy procedures. How that would ultimately affect his plans, he was at a stage where he no longer cared. He knew his time with her was draining away like accelerated sand in an hourglass, and such a realization was messing with his restraint, rearranging all of his priorities.
From his brothers’ point of view, that would all prove that he’d lost his mind. He couldn’t contest their diagnosis. For he had no sanity to speak of when it came to Scarlett.
When he didn’t make a comment, Antonio exhaled. “From her own admission, she’s a Mata Hari who’s played at least five dozen men before you. You think you’re so special to her that she won’t do the same to you...again? How could you resume your liaison after she blackmailed you for fifty million dollars?”
“I did after she asked for double that this time.” The trio of his brothers just stared at him as if he’d sprouted two extra heads. “Apart from the money she used to create her current identity, she only uses the money in her humanitarian work.”
“And you realized that when?” Ivan scoffed. “Long after the fact, I’m certain. This woman demands money, and no matter how outrageous the amount, and whether you have reason to succumb to her demands or not, you give it to her. Without consulting any of us.”
“And without letting us know of the danger she could have posed to all of us back then, and could still pose now or any time in the future.” Antonio shook his head in incredulity. “This is even worse than I at first thought.”
Raiden’s gaze swept the three men, felt them passing judgment. From the fury on Ivan’s face, the dismay on Antonio’s and the nothingness on Numair’s, he knew the sentence they would like to pass was a painless death. To put him out of their collective misery.
Cocking his head at them, he sighed. “Are you done?”
“Actually, no,” Ivan growled. “How did you expect us to take this? Don’t you realize the magnitude of what you risked? And are still risking?”
Numair sat forward, moving in pure effortlessness, the first trait that had earned him the name Phantom before the rest of his stealthy methods had. This meant he’d decided this back-and-forth exchange was over. He’d reached his verdict.