Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

snow-
    covered lawn, with half a dozen borzois running around him, Romodanovsky looked
    like a tsar in his gray fur coat and ushanka. The car pulled up the sweeping driveway,
    and as if he were a host welcoming a guest and not a rapist who had lured Kael’s boy
    halfway across the world, Romodanovsky waved. The smile on his face made Kael
    want to smack him. The dogs pranced up to the car as he got out and then followed him
    as he walked up to Romodanovsky.
    Yes, you won, you fucker. You stole my boy because you knew it was the only way to get
    me here.
    “Kael Saunders.” Romodanovsky stuck out his hand.
    Ignoring it, Kael scanned the grounds, noting the minders strategically placed
    about the man and also at a distance on the lawn and along the road. Angel was less
    than a hundred yards away, his eyes on Kael. Raising his hand, Kael beckoned with one
    finger. At a run, Angel took off toward him. He had left London dressed in his school
    uniform, but someone had given him a warm coat, hat, and boots. He came to a halt
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    about a foot from Kael and pulled off his Irlens, trying to keep the happy grin from
    taking over his face. Trying to look professional.
    “Sir,” he said.
    Angel had no idea he had been used to get Kael there. He thought he was on a job,
    and as much as Kael hated to burst the boy’s bubble, at some point he would have to
    tell him what had happened. It could probably wait until later, but he had been so
    worried about him, despite knowing Romodanovsky would not harm him. All he
    wanted was Angel in his arms.
    Kael grabbed his boy and pulled him tight to his chest. “Daddy!” Angel’s frantic
    whisper made him release the boy. “This is work.” Kael met the beautiful silver gaze
    and watched as Angel looked at the smiling Russian and then back at him. “Holy brain
    bypass, what have I done? What have I done!” His cheeks, already pink with the cold,
    turned scarlet with embarrassment at his own stupidity. Kael wanted to smack
    Romodanovsky simply for upsetting his boy.
    “Daddy, I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s all right, sweetheart. We’ll be leaving in a minute. We’ll talk about this later.”
    Romodanovsky put his arm around Angel’s shoulders. “You can’t possibly leave
    yet, Kael. I want to show you my dacha and the grounds. I want to show you the
    houses in Moscow and Switzerland. When you see what I can offer you, you will want
    to work for me. The boy can stay too. I know you won’t part with him.”
    “Get your fucking hands off him,” Kael said. Romodanovsky removed his arm at
    once. Kael took Angel’s hand and began to walk toward the car.
    “Oh come now, Mr. Saunders. Don’t be so angry. I have much to offer you.”
    Romodanovsky placed his hand on Kael’s shoulder. “Don’t leave. We need to talk.”
    Releasing Angel’s hand, Kael whirled and landed his fist in the man’s jaw,
    knocking him off balance. The Russian stumbled and fell backward into the snow. Just
    as he knew they would, the minders surrounded Kael in seconds, grabbing at his arms.
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    Before he could even begin to fend them off, Romodanovsky shouted, “Don’t touch
    him. Back off.”
    The men stepped away from Kael. One of them helped Romodanovsky to his feet.
    The man’s cheek was already beginning to swell from the blow. “Move away,” he said
    angrily to his men.
    When the minders had backed up fifty yards, Kael looked at Angel. “Go and wait
    by the car.” The boy obeyed at once.
    Snatching up a handful of snow, Romodanovsky pressed it to his swelling cheek.
    “Why do you hate me?”
    Because I think you raped my mother.
    “I could be your father.”
    “You could be. Were you in Liverpool at the Adelphi Hotel in June of 1977?”
    “I don’t know. I might have been. That was a long time ago. I’m sure I have far
    more children than I had with my wife. We could do a DNA test. I’d be proud to
    acknowledge you.”
    “There’ll be no DNA test. If a rapist like you is my father, I’d rather not know.”
    “Does your mother say she was raped?” Romodanovsky asked.
    Though he was loath to betray his mother’s privacy, he was angry enough to say,
    “Yes.”
    The Russian looked him up and down, and Kael detected a slight softening in the
    man’s eyes, a genuine desire to find some common ground and explore it. “What does
    it matter how you came into the world? A man like you must have come from