Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
His face doesn’t change, but his eyes do. They sharpen just enough that I notice. It’s such a subtle shift, but it lands like a punch. My heart races even faster, and I wonder if it’s loud enough for him to hear. I grip the spoon tighter so he won’t see my hand shaking. The air between us feels so thick it’s hard for me to draw in a full breath.
He lifts his chin slightly. “I knew that bothered you,” he says, almost under his breath.
“I don’t know if bothered is the right word,” I say carefully. “I just didn’t quite understand it.”
He studies me for a long moment, hands braced on the counter. I can almost hear him deciding how much to tell me. Then he exhales slowly, like he’s made up his mind.
“I thought you already knew,” he says simply.
Something inside me goes very still.
“Knew what?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
In that second, time seems to stop. All of my dread gathers inside of me, ready to explode when the floor inevitably falls out from underneath me.
“Who I am,” he answers simply. “And what I do.”
I blink once slowly, trying to come up with a response to this.
I don’t know any of it. How could I? He never tells me about what he does. My only glimpses into his world are the scary men he employs to follow me around, all in the name of keeping me safe.
“I mean, I knew you were involved in something,” I manage. “But I guess I thought it was business. Shady business, maybe, but…” I trail off because the words sound naïve even to my own ears.
He tilts his head slightly, not unkindly. “Molly. You saw me kill a man in the alley.”
“I thought…” I swallow. “I thought that was because I was in danger.”
His expression softens, but not in a comforting way. It’s more like he’s bracing himself for my reaction.
“I was raised in this world,” he says quietly. “My father ran this organization before me. I didn’t choose it. I was born into it. And when he died, I inherited everything that came with the title.”
His words drop at my feet like an anvil. My brain tries to catch up to what he’s saying. He doesn’t look ashamed. He doesn’t try to explain it away. He doesn’t minimize it or dress it up. He just tells me plainly who he is.
“What is your organization, exactly?” I ask in a tight voice.
He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t try to push into my space. He can clearly see that I’m trying to understand all of this.
“I’m the pakhan of a Bratva—what you would probably call the Russian mafia.”
I take a slow step back, needing a little more space to breathe.
“So when Davýd calls you the Devil?” I inquire, trying to keep my voice level.
“It’s because when I was young,” he interrupts softly, “I made sure the men who betrayed my father or me never got the chance to hurt us again. The same way I took care of that man in the alley. The same way I’ll take care of the one that got away.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“So you kill people for a living?” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine. They’re steady. Dark. Not cruel, but not apologetic either.
“It isn’t my main job description.” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. “But, yes, when the situation requires it, I do what needs to be done to take care of business.”
Something cold trickles down my spine, clashing with the hot steam of the soup.
He watches the shift in me, the way I straighten, the way my hands curl into fists at my sides, and his jaw flexes, like he hates that he caused it.
“Molly,” he says slowly, “nothing’s changed here. I am exactly the same man you’ve known since that first night.”
“Are you?” I ask, a little desperately.
He nods once. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t think that this was something I should know?”
His throat works, like the question hits deeper than he expected.
“I thought you understood what it meant when I brought you here. You’re such a smart woman, Molly. I thought you’d put it together.”
I shake my head, numb. “I didn’t. I really didn’t.”
He steps closer, but I instinctively move back. Just a little. Just enough that he notices.
“Molly,” he murmurs, pained.
“I’m not scared of you,” I say quickly, because I need him to know that. “But I’m scared of what this means. For the baby. For me.” I take a shaky breath. “You’re part of something that gets people killed, Samuil.”
His face hardens. Not with anger, but with a kind of acceptance.
“Yes. I am.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me before I…” I gesture vaguely, helplessly. “Before any of this?”
“I didn’t lie to you,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t tell you the parts I didn’t want you to worry about.”