Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
If it isn’t the Bureau, then Mari was targeted before this morning.
I think about the photo at the gate. I think about the hit on Delancey. Once again, I’m forced to wonder if this is all part of the same attack. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be. It’s all happened in such tight succession.
Suddenly, I’m wary of everyone in my circle. Who can I trust with this?
I text Yuri, because he truly is the only person I can be sure won’t betray me.
Pull video logs of the property from last night. Include the ridge line and the road. If a toy helicopter flew over my trees, I want the time it launched and the place it landed.
He replies with a single dot, his code for moving.
I text Marcus.
Two teams to her building in twenty. She chooses. They pack. Change locks by nightfall. No one touches her floor without my say.
Understood, boss.
Yet another fucking problem. This man, whoever he is, went to Mari’s apartment. Her roommate let him in. Now I’ll need to keep her safe as well.
11
MARI
Yuri lounges in the doorway like we’re old friends killing time. The posture reads friendly, but I’ve watched him as he’s already clocked every exit in this apartment. I couldn’t get past him if I tried.
“How’s your day been?” he asks lightly, as if we’re just making small talk and I’m not being imprisoned in our boss’s penthouse.
“Fantastic,” I deadpan. “It’s always been my dream to be held against my will. Let me go home.”
“I can’t do that,” he answers evenly. “Besides, even if you get past me, there are about twenty guards between the elevator and the lobby doors. They’re a lot less charming than I am.”
“So, I’m in prison,” I huff. “That’s just great.”
“It’s a penthouse,” he corrects mildly.
I stand up, trying to scrape together a shred of control. He doesn’t move, but I can see in his expression that he’s ready to tackle me if it comes to that.
“I want to go home,” I say again.
“I know,” he says, actually sounding sorry. “And I can’t let that happen.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” I ask, seething.
“Both.” He shrugs, a slight grimace on his face. “Lev claimed you.”
I try to process that, but can’t make sense of his words.
“He what?”
“He claimed you,” Yuri repeats, offering no further context.
“We had sex,” I say, heat climbing my neck. “We’re not in a relationship. He’s completely overreacting.”
“It might not be a big deal to you,” he says. “But for him, it’s a huge deal. He doesn’t claim anyone. He doesn’t do relationships. You’re clearly very special to him.”
“This isn’t a relationship!” I laugh sharply, trying to stave off the panic. “This is a fucked up hostage situation. Does he expect me to develop Stockholm Syndrome?”
“He expects you to stay safe,” he corrects. “This is the best way to make that happen. No matter how fucked up you may think it is.”
“I don’t want to be special,” I snap. “I want to go home.”
“Those are not compatible goals today.” He almost smiles.
Under different circumstances, I think I might actually like Yuri. He’s got a dry wit and seems even-keeled. For a mobster, anyway. But now that he’s my prison guard, I can’t feel anything for him but hatred. I start pacing, and he stiffens, very slightly, ready to pounce the moment I look like I might bolt.
I go to the floor-to-ceiling windows and look down at the city. From up here, it looks so calm. Everyone down there is going about their day, not knowing that hundreds of feet above them, I’ve become a hostage.
I sit back down on the couch because there’s nowhere to put the restless energy clawing under my skin.
“What does claimed mean?” I ask finally. “Give me the fine print.”
“It means that you are a very important person in his life,” he answers. “You’ll have 24/7 surveillance, and a guard with you at all times. You won’t go anywhere that Lev doesn’t know about. If you do have to leave the premises for any reason, you’ll be in a heavily guarded fleet.”
“So this is more or less house arrest,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
He doesn’t answer for a moment, just assesses me with his sharp expression.
“Seventy-Seventh has great pasta,” he finally says, completely changing the subject. “I can have it here in fifteen.”
My stomach answers him before I do, loud enough to humiliate me. I scowl.
“Traitor,” I whisper down to it.
Yuri’s eyebrows lift a millimeter.
“The human body is a practical machine. Cacio e pepe?”
“And caprese,” I mutter. “And all the bread.”
He types into his phone, but looks up every few seconds just to make sure I haven’t moved an inch. It’s unsettling how calm and calculating he is.
I decide to pick a new fight.
“Why are you even nice to me? Isn’t this easier if I hate you?”