Deception at the Altar
Автор
Emmy Grayson
Прочтений
16,1K
Глав
20
CHAPTER ONE
WALKING INTO MY father’s will-reading seven minutes late is satisfying. The old man, selfish as he was, was a stickler for punctuality.
I glance to my right as I walk in. The staggering sight of hundreds of skyscrapers clustered together on a tiny island never ceases to take me aback. New York City, with its gleaming steel and frantic energy, is a far cry from Malibu, where I currently live. Alessandra Wright, my father’s estate lawyer, offered to fly to California or even to Greece, where my older half brother, Rafael, lives. I don’t know what reason Rafe gave for declining her offer. We talk, yes. But it’s usually work. Drakos Development, the largest property development firm in the world, is the glue that binds us together.
Blood certainly doesn’t. That was my reason for telling Alessandra no. I’ve carved out a nice life for myself in Malibu. A mansion on three acres with its own beach, a private jet that can fly me from Los Angeles to anywhere in the world, and a professional reputation I earned through hard work and even harder dealings. I took the North American division of Drakos and transformed it from passable to powerhouse.
I want nothing of Lucifer Adomos Drakos anywhere near my personal paradise. Including this damned will. Family lore says my grandfather named his only child after the devil because my grandmother died giving birth to him. Whatever the reason, he more than lived up to his moniker. He was greedy and brutal. The world is a better place without him.
I turn away from the view, the towers and high-rises like jagged teeth stabbing into the sky, and focus on the two people sitting near the far window. Rafe is reviewing a thick sheaf of papers, his back ramrod straight. His black hair, combed back into submission from a broad forehead, accentuates his narrow face and sharp chin. My mouth twists into a slight grimace as I draw near. He looks more like our father every day, a point I know he wouldn’t appreciate. Neither of us had any love for the man who sired us.
He glances up. Pale blue eyes meet mine. The one and only characteristic we share. It marks us. Rafe rarely displays emotion, so I have no way of knowing if it haunts him the way it does me; looking in the mirror and seeing the eyes of our father staring back.
I hate it.
“You’re late.”
“I am.” I circle around the desk to where a tall, slender woman is standing to greet me. “Alessandra.”
She smiles slightly and accepts my kiss to the cheek. The woman could have been a model, with auburn hair falling just past her shoulders and a jawline that could have been carved from marble. Instead, Alessandra Wright became one of the youngest and most sought-after estate lawyers in the world.
“You look stunning. If you’re free this evening, we could have dinner. Strictly business,” I add with a suggestive smile.
Alessandra rolls her eyes as she takes a seat in a straight-backed office chair. For all our teasing and flirting over the past few months, nothing would ever happen between us. Not only do I not mix business with pleasure, but she’s not my type. One day, Alessandra will want—and deserve—a husband and a family. She’s got long-term relationship written all over her.
“As promising as that sounds, I’ll have to decline.” She glances down at her watch and frowns. “Hopefully Michail will join us sooner rather than later.”
I tap my fingers on the plush leather armrest once, twice. Michail Drakos. Another half brother. One neither Rafe nor I have ever met. We learned of his existence this morning after a revised will was delivered by courier. It didn’t escape my notice that our recently discovered brother bears the moniker of a celestial being, just like Rafe and me. Lucifer had a nasty sense of humor.
I’m sure Rafe had an entire dossier put together within an hour of receiving the will. I, on the other hand, spent the last few hours pretending like Michail didn’t exist. No different than the last thirty-two years of my life.
My chest hardens. It hadn’t surprised me that there was another child.
But Theós, it hurt.
My father had called eight days before he died. The last time we ever spoke. I almost didn’t answer. I still don’t know why I accepted the call. But I answered. The raspy weakness of his voice cut me deeper than it should have as he whispered “Hello, yiós.”
My father was dying. He was dying and, for the first time in years, he’d called me. He’d called me son.
For one moment, the world stood still. I waited, letting threads of hope creep in. Hope for words of apology, of pride, of something other than the decades of scorn that had chased me.
Then time slammed back to its regular breakneck pace with his next words.
“There’s someone I need to tell you about.”
Thinking that Lucifer gave a damn about his bastard son was a moment of weakness. I knew better. When you care about someone, you give them power. The power to control, to manipulate.
To hurt.
Like realizing that my father’s last words would have been about a son born after Rafe but before me. A son invited to today’s will-reading, which means he’s getting something even though he didn’t survive a childhood with Lucifer criticizing his every move. Reminding him that he was less, would always be less.
I brush aside my juvenile pain. Lucifer can bequeath whatever the hell he wants to Michail. As long as it doesn’t involve anything with my share of Drakos Development. I’ll fight that to the highest court in any country and win.
A knock sounds on the door. My fingers tighten into a fist.
“Enter,” Alessandra calls.
A man strides in, barely restrained anger radiating off his large frame. Taller than Rafe or me, with thick shoulders and a tense jaw. The only thing that confirms he’s a by-product of Lucifer’s numerous affairs is the eyes.
Pale blue and snapping with fury as he sweeps his gaze over Rafe, then me, then Alessandra.
His step falters. Just a moment, but I see it. My head snaps between him and Alessandra. But she doesn’t bat an eye. She simply regards him with a professional expression bordering on bored. Maybe he’s surprised by Alessandra’s stunning looks.
Or maybe he’s just a misogynistic idiot like his father.
“Mr. Drakos.” She stands and offers her hand across the desk. “Thank you for joining us.”
He eyes her hand like it’s poisonous.
“My name is Sullivan.” His voice is gravelly. “Not Drakos.”
“Don’t know where you’re from, adelfós,” I say casually, “but it’s usually polite to shake someone’s hand.”
Michail’s head swings around. He stares daggers at me. I give him a small smirk in return. Wit is a weapon I wield well.
A weapon and a shield.
“Who the hell are you?”
I settle deeper into my chair as my smile grows. “Your baby brother. Shall we hug, or does the occasion of our reunion warrant a familial kiss on the cheek?”
He snarls. The man actually snarls.
“Boys.”
Alessandra’s voice rings out, icy enough to quell even my humor. She starts to turn away. Michail’s hand stabs out and grabs hers, his mammoth fingers swallowing hers in a tight grasp.
“Sorry, Miss Wright.” Michail’s voice comes out strangled, as if he can barely choke out the apology. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Then why are you here?”
Rafe finally speaks. Cold, with a thread of steel woven through his words, as usual. The man isn’t known for his warm and fuzzy feelings. But the one thing he does care about? Drakos Development. If he sees Michail as a threat, God help our half brother.
Michail releases Alessandra’s hand and stalks over to a window on the far side of the room, then leans casually against the glass with America’s most populated city at his back.
“My reasons are my own.”
Alessandra sighs as she eases into her chair.
“If you’re all done seeing whose is bigger, let’s proceed.”
She shoots me a glance that tells me to keep the joke on the tip of my tongue to myself. I respond with a wink, which nets me another roll of her eyes and the tiniest quirk of her lips.
“Gentlemen, I will now read your father’s final will and testament. Please reserve any questions for the end.”
Any trace of humor disappears. I stay reclined, keep my slight smile. But inside I’m coiled tight. I know I’ll survive, no matter what the will says.
But losing my life’s work will be like a death. Unlike my mother, who preferred her own grief to raising her son, and my father, who cared too much about himself, Drakos Development gave me something back for the work I put in. The hours I put in, the research, visiting properties, uncovering what it was my sellers coveted and putting their dreams within reach as I netted sale after sale, all of it came back to me. Wealth, prestige, recognition.
It’s filled the void left by my parents’ neglect. It’s been the one thing I’ve been able to rely on my entire life.
Well, aside from the fact that Lucifer could yank it away at any moment.
“‘I, Lucifer Drakos, being of sound mind and body, declare this to be my final will and testament.’”
She starts with Rafe. Aside from inheriting thirty-five percent of Lucifer’s shares in Drakos Development, he receives several luxury properties, a substantial monetary inheritance and—oddly—the contents of the library from the villa on Santorini. Our father also includes an edict that Rafe retain his position as head of the European and Asian divisions of Drakos Development.
Something tightens in my chest. He being granted his job in the will is a good sign for me.
But not a guarantee.
Hatred twists in my stomach. I’m fully aware that the last ten years of my life are hanging on the whim of a dying old man who cared only for himself and his bank account.
When Alessandra reads off similar conditions for me, including my keeping my position over the North American offices, the band that’s been wrapped around my heart for the past twenty-four years since I learned who my father was loosens. Even Lucifer’s death didn’t alleviate the tension I’ve lived with since I was eight years old, standing in the midst of a wealth I couldn’t comprehend as a man I’d never met stared down at the child he’d never wanted with disgust.
It’s done.
I have my share of Drakos Development.
After Alessandra reads that Michail is inheriting the remaining thirty percent of Lucifer’s shares, a couple of American properties and something about a bequest for Michail’s mother, I stop paying attention as I mentally review the upcoming months. Some would find my anticipation of the next steps in my life odd, even inappropriate, in the wake of my father’s death. But they wouldn’t understand the sense of peace that fills me. The power I now have to make decisions without wondering if it could all be yanked away at any given moment. Now, when I think of my schedule, it’s with confidence, excitement. The press conference tomorrow in Malibu to announce the latest West Coast projects. The evaluation of the Mississippi River warehouse development. Then, a meeting in Paris with the board of directors in three weeks.
And after that, I think with a smile, a long weekend. Two or three days in Italy with a woman would be the perfect way to celebrate—
“‘As to the conditions...’”
I snap back to the present moment and sit up.
“Conditions?” I repeat.
The vise winds itself back around my chest and tightens until it traps my breath in my lungs. Alessandra looks at me with a glance I can only interpret as apologetic before she resumes reading.
“‘I have learned, too late, the value of family. Of legacy. Which is why Rafael, Gavriil, and Michail must marry within one year of the reading of this will and stay married for at least one year, or forfeit everything I have bequeathed to them.’”
