growing anger. “Or was it on a whim you decided to amuse yourself by toying with Kathryn Carlisle’s daughter while she poured out her guts? Either way, congratulations. You’ve made my humiliation doubly complete.”
Burning with rage, she turned on her heel and fled to the next room, but she was stopped at the outer door by an unsmiling, robust, Italian secret-service type planted there.
Naturally the prince wouldn’t make a move without all his bets being covered. She shut the door in the bodyguard’s face and wheeled around. Her nemesis lounged against the doorjamb of Mr. Defore’s office with his strong arms folded, insolently at ease.
More infuriated than ever, she said, “Am I to assume you’re the lottery, as long as I provide certain services? Would it give you some kind of perverted rush to claim you slept with Kathryn Carlisle’s daughter?” An angry laugh escaped as she shook her head. “You must be hard up for new thrills to consider handing over twelve million dollars to me, but unlike my mother, my body’s not for sale at any price!”
Undaunted he said, “I’m glad to hear it. Lovely as your body is, I’m not asking for it. However, I am in need of something else you could give me that would solve the most serious problem of my life … and yours. Come back in and sit down while we talk about it. This could take a while.”
“I can’t imagine being able to offer anything that would solve your problem … whatever it is.”
“You’d be surprised,” came the cryptic comment. “Give me half an hour of your time.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have to be at the airport later today and don’t have time to spare.”
He gazed at her intently. “Not even if the result of our meeting might mean clearing your mother’s debts once and for all? When I heard you cry out earlier that this was a matter of life and death, it sounded like you meant it.”
Alex studied him without averting her eyes. “I did.”
She heard his deep intake of breath. “What if I told you I have a situation that’s a matter of life and death for me, too. Would that make a difference to you?”
What was she supposed to say to such a question? Something in his tone led her to believe he might be telling the truth. Incredible how he’d turned things around so she felt guilty if she didn’t at least listen to what he had to say.
“I’ll give you five minutes.”
“Thank you. Come back inside the other room.”
Against her better judgment she did his bidding and retraced her steps. As she sat down, he spoke in Italian to someone on the phone before he took his place across from her. Then he typed something on the computer and printed it out.
Handing it to her, he said, “Your mother was married to royalty, did you know that?”
“Mother was married to four men with supposed titles, but in time those claims turned out to be false. Everything about her life was a sham.”
He eyed her narrowly. “Except that your father was the real thing.”
“You mean, a Las Vegas racketeer.”
“Rumors have a lot to answer for, particularly when they’re founded in jealousy and greed. Read what’s on the paper. You should find the information of the greatest interest.”
Alex looked down:
After the October Revolution of 1917 all classes of the Russian nobility were legally abolished. Many members of the Russian nobility who fled Russia after the Bolshevik Revolution played a significant role in the white emigré communities that settled in Europe, in North America and in other parts of the world.
In the 1920s and 1930s, several Russian nobility associations were established outside Russia, including groups in France, Belgium and the United States. By 1938, the Russian Nobility Association in New York was founded. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, there has been a growing interest among Russians in the role the Russian nobility played in their historical and cultural development.
Membership is exclusively reserved to persons who are listed in the nobility archives. Those titled members are recorded below with their former titles, genealogies and photos available.
Alex scanned the list until her gaze fell on the name Grigory. She gasped softly when she saw the last name on the Grigory royal family tree. It read “Prince Oleg Rostokof Grigory, son of Prince Nicholas Grigory and Princess Vladmila Rostokof, born in New York, 1958, now living in Las Vegas, Nevada.”
Her heart clapped like thunder as she looked at a picture of her handsome, dark blond father, who couldn’t be more than eighteen in this picture. The strong physical resemblance between daughter and father at that age was uncanny.
As her head flew back, a security guard entered and brought them two sodas. After he left, the prince pushed one toward her and took a lengthy swallow from the other. When he put it down again, he said, “Where did you get the idea that your father was part of the underworld?”
“One of my nannies mentioned that she’d heard my father was involved with the Russian mafia. As I grew older and realized what that meant, I was ashamed and frightened by the possibility. I hid away in case one of them tried to find me and hurt me. My repulsion over my mother’s ghastly lack of judgment in marrying him was so severe I didn’t want to know anything more about him.
“By the time she’d gone through her sixth divorce, so many preposterous tales were circulating about her and her past husbands, I couldn’t handle it and tried to shut it out. To my horror the police came to my work and told me she’d died of what looked like too much alcohol mixed with drugs. At that point it was too late to ever ask her what the truth was. I’m not sure she would have told me anyway.” Her voice shook.
He finished the rest of his soda. “You’ve been through a great deal of pain in your life. Nothing can wipe that away, but the sooner her bills are paid, the sooner you can start to concentrate on other things.”
A fresh spurt of anger filled her system. She looked back at her father’s picture. “Are you saying I should do something as crass and ignoble as turn to my father’s family for the money? Is that what you’re suggesting? A modern-day Anastasia story with an ugly twist?” she said. Her shrill voice reverberated in the room’s confines.
“Not at all,” came his bland reply, exasperating her even more. “But it might be of some comfort to you to get acquainted with the extended family you’ve never met or known. Your grandparents are no longer alive, but your great-uncle Yuri Grigory, is still living and has an apartment here in New York. I met him a year ago at an embassy function. I can arrange for you two to get acquainted.”
Alex was so stunned by what he’d just told her she didn’t know what to say. Realizing she needed to get hold of herself, she drank half of her soda without taking a breath.
The news about her father’s lineage had come as a total shock. Mafia or not, it appeared he did descend from a royal background, otherwise the crown prince of Castelmare wouldn’t have been able to produce the evidence she held in her hand.
Puzzled and confused by this whole experience, she eyed him warily. “If you hoped this information would help give me a sense of identity, I … I appreciate it.” Her voice faltered.
