Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

49. Andrik

49

ANDRIK

M y blood boils when a voice at the side says, “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, I beg you to stop this madness now before it is too late.”

I continue watching my grandfather’s fleet of SUVs glide down the driveway of my home, before spinning to face the voice. My father looks disheveled, like he’s battling more than the demons of his past. Dark circles plague his eyes, and his shirt is crumpled. He looks like shit, but it does little to weaken my determination.

I have permission to pick, and the verdict will only ever land one way.

Zoya Galdean is mine.

Anoushka moves out from the alcove when I lock my eyes with hers. She’s not snooping. She merely makes sure she is available to assist no matter the hour.

“Pack Arabella’s and Dina’s things, and then have them escorted out by security.”

“Andrik—”

“Don’t,” I snap out, turning to face my father. “Don’t act like you care, that you’ve ever cared, or I may be tempted to forget whose blood runs through my veins.”

He steps up to me like my gun isn’t on my hip. “Do you think I want to live like this? That I didn’t try to fight the system too? I’ve loved and lost. Fought and hated. I did everything you have done, and I still lost. Your mother?—”

“Was constantly embarrassed by you ! Disrespected by you . You didn’t love and cherish her. You threw her away as if she were a broken toy the instant something new and shiny was placed in front of you!”

He chokes on a sob, like my words truly pain him. “I fought with the same tenacity as you, the same grit, but the outcome never altered.” The sheer remorse in his tone sees the needle going in the opposite direction for the first time tonight. “So not just as your father, but a man who has also lost everything , I am begging you to accept your fate before it is too late.”

“My fate is with Zoya. My life is with her. She is who I pick.”

“Then kiss your life goodbye, along with your son’s,” he snarls through gritted teeth.

Over being constantly manipulated, I yank my gun out of its holster, pin my father to the wall by his throat, then almost singe a hole in his temple with a bullet.

Only almost because I don’t want my son to see this side of me, and although Anoushka is quick to pull him away from me like she did me from my mother thirty years ago, he is too close to miss the death of his grandfather.

“My mother?—”

“Was not the woman you think she was.” Speaking in pretense already pisses me off, so I won’t mention how potent my blood becomes when he adds, “She fooled us all.” He uses my quick check of Zakhar’s location to his advantage. “This is not a battle you will win without losing everyone you’ve ever cared about. Including Zoya Dokovic.”

I inch in the trigger further. I don’t want him to speak Zoya’s name, let alone associate it with that surname. Even when we wed, she won’t take that name. We will create a new surname, one as noble and respected as I had planned to return to my family’s before he made the task impossible.

Bile burns my throat when he says, “Why do you think he was so quick to say yes?” His eyes flick in the direction his father just walked. “They want a pure bloodline, and you and Zoya will give them that.” I almost turn the gun on myself when he says, “Sibling marriage was historically practiced amongst royalty through pre-colonial times. If you go through with his plan, it will become modernized.”

“You’re lying!”

“No,” he instantly denies, shaking his head so firmly the wetness in his eyes almost trickles out. “Zoya is your blood relation.” His eyes bounce between mine, full of honesty and shame. “That’s why you’re so compelled to protect her.” As the barrel of my gun scalds his temple from the fury racing through my veins, he stammers out, “I didn’t want to believe it either, but you can’t deny DNA.”

I tighten my grip on his throat when he squirms. He’s not running. He is digging for his wallet. I’m just too worked up not to respond negatively. I want to kill. I want to maim. There’s just no guarantee my first victim won’t be me.

My jaw firms when he pulls a faded photograph of a blonde woman out of his wallet.

My mother was brunette.

“This is Mikhail’s mother.” The image of Mikhail’s mother holding a strip of ultrasound pictures rattles when he moves it closer. “Look at her face, Andrik. Her features.” He releases a solidary word with a hot breath. “Identical.”

He’s not speaking about similarities between Mikhail and his mother. He is highlighting how alike Zoya and his second wife are. Since Stasy is at the age Zoya is now, they could be mistaken as sisters.

He hopes I’m already over the fence, but just in case, he drags me over a little more. “Now look at the dates in the photo and when it was taken.”

My stomach heaves when the hundreds of calculations I run through my head after doing as instructed all provide the same result.

Stasy was five months pregnant with a daughter four months before Zoya was born. Her due date was a mere seven days before Zoya’s birthday.

I fight the heaves of my stomach when my father hammers the final nail into my coffin. “I ran a sample of Zoya’s DNA against Stasy’s that was already in the system.”

You can’t marry a Dokovic without submitting your DNA to the federation’s database, so his claim that Stasy’s DNA was in their system is legitimate.

I feel like I am sucker punched when he says, “It was a match. Zoya is your half-sister. Her DNA proves it.”

With a roar of a wounded man, I redirect my gun and fire simultaneously until all the bullets in the chamber are dispersed and I am certain I am dead.