The Heir

Chapter 36

I blink hard as I come to. Bright sunlight shining directly into my eyes through the window. The smell of fresh coffee and husky cologne. I slowly pull myself into a sitting position on the couch I'm on and look around the room.

Rome is sitting in one of the armchairs not even six feet away. The coffee cup he brings to his lips is miniscule in comparison to the hand holding it. His eyes lift from his phone when I move.

"You had me worried there for a minute," he says, placing his phone on the coffee table. "Are you okay?"

He's no longer wearing his suit, at least not all of it. He's wearing only his pants and a white wife beater. His shoulder is wrapped in gauze, a little blood peeking through, and the same goes for his thigh.

"I'm fine."

"That's good to hear," he nods once. "We can go back to our conversation, then."

The door to the office is closed tightly and my gun is clear across the room on his desk. Fine. If he wants to talk then let's talk. Because I can't find a single fucking reason as to why he would know who I am. And that is a question that needs an answer. I take a steadying breath, sitting a little straighter.

"Here," he offers me a water bottle. I eye him up as I take it from him.

But I don't open it, who knows what he could've put in it. Rome rolls his eyes, grabs the water, and takes a big gulp before handing it back. Hesitantly, I bring the water to my lips.

"Thank you," I say, placing the bottle on the table.

"Of course," he dismisses me quickly. "Let's get back to business."

"What do you want from me?" I ask outright. "And how the hell do you know who I am?"

"My parents died when I was little," he starts, putting his coffee down. "I was sent away to live with some distant cousins and they changed my name. You might recognize my real name though; I'm Vladimir Romanoff."

My face drops. Romanoff. As in the people who murdered nearly my entire family. The people who made my father an orphan. The people who made me an orphan. They're supposed to be dead. My father and uncle exterminated them years ago. How can he be sitting here in front of me when he's supposed to be dead?

He doesn't wait for a response, "this all started because of your father. He is single handedly responsible for the death of both of my parents."

I cut him off, "your parents killed mine."

"It was war," he offers a one shouldered shrug. "There are always casualties."

"My parents were ambushed at a church," I counter. "That's not war. That's vindictive. That's sick."

He sighs and shakes his head, "it's also not the point."

"Then what is?" I push. "What? Are you going to try and demand some ransom?"

His brows lift, "and if I was?"

"Why not just take my sisters then?" I scoff. "They're right here in New York."

It would've been much easier to take any of my sisters. They tend to live in their own bubble; unaware of their surroundings. Plus, they are less than a forty five minute car ride away. 

If this is about money he should have gone for the easiest target. But for some reason, Rome targeted me. He tracked me down, both in Europe and here in America, and got me alone. I just can't figure out why.

Rome grins, looking me up and down, "that may be true but everyone knows you're the favorite."

I roll my eyes, "how much are you asking for?"