Page 87 of The Wrong Brother

Frank lifts his glass thoughtfully. “Romantic, in its own dysfunctional way.”

I laugh despite myself, then immediately groan. “See? This is exactly the problem.”

“What is?”

I stare down into my champagne. “I’m starting to forget I’m supposed to be horrified by this whole thing.”

Silence settles between us. Finally, Frank says quietly, “Emma… Ruslan has spent years making himself untouchable. You are the first thing in a very long time that seems capable of hurting him.”

“Me?”

Maybe once I would’ve believed that. Back when I carried a standard issue Glock 17M and could still get away with appearing innocent. But now?

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.I’mthe one he’s using to get back at his brother.”

“So he’s forcing you to be here.”

“Well… No, but…”

Frank cocks his head, curious. “Then why did you agree? Knowing Ruslan, you signed some kind of contract, but he’s overall a fair man. What did he offer you, Emma, once he was done pretending to be the villain?”

I bite my lip, not wanting to admit the truth and the fact that I’ve forgotten about the money for a few weeks now.

“A fresh start,” I say lamely, avoiding those green eyes.

Frank hums. He doesn’t look away from me, doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

I’m not here for the money anymore. And maybe I mean more to Ruslan than I was ever supposed to.

Chapter 22

Ruslan

Frank’s drivernavigates downtown traffic with practiced ease, despite never having been here. Chu is a luxury that Frank chooses to afford; quiet, discreet, and hiding a past life as a getaway driver, I’m pretty sure.

Beside me, Frank reviews fabric samples like they contain state secrets, expensive swatches draped across his knee while he mutters under his breath.

“You’re frowning again,” he says without looking up.

“I’m surrounded by six thousand dollar’s worth of wool. Which I thought I’d left back in California.”

“Cashmere blend,” he corrects absently. “And closer to ten.”

I stare at him.

Frank finally glances over, entirely unbothered. “Luxury fashion requires suffering, Ruslan. And even ifyou’rewilling to let the business go under for one last hurrah, you forget that I have several hundreds of thousands invested in it.”

“I preferred you when you were interrogating Emma.”

A laugh rumbles out of him at that, low and knowing. “Interesting choice of wording. We were just getting to know one another.”

I ignore him and look back out the window.

The last few days have settled into an uneasy rhythm. Meetings. Networking. Public appearances. Quiet threats hidden beneath polite smiles while Andrei scrambles to figure out what exactly I’m planning.

Still, frustration keeps prowling beneath my skin because revenge is proving more complicated now that Emma exists in the middle of it. She has somehow embedded herself into every part of this trip without even trying. I catch myself looking for her reactions in crowded rooms. Wondering whether she’s eaten. Listening for her voice when the suite falls quiet.

It’s annoying. Maybe I would’ve been better off handling this alone, and letting her run.