Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Then I saw the news.
I step into the car without saying anything. He sighs, then walks to the driver’s side.
My thoughts go to Daniel, that poor young man. I know he’s not Evan. I get that. But the similarities are too close to ignore. I see Evan in many patients, and I think that’s one of the reasons I work so hard. But this one hit different.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“My penthouse,” he replies. “We can talk there.”
I fold my arms. “Okay.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it. I let him hold me for a few moments before I snatch my hand away. In the texting, I demanded to know if he was the one who was behind Daniel’s murder. I didn’t mean it. I don’t really think he’s capable of killing an innocent man… do I?
I think I just wanted to make him angry, or maybe guilty. Judging by his broodiness, I succeeded.
The doormen nod to us as we walk into his wide marble lobby. His Wharf-side building is the epitome of luxury. As we ride the elevator up, he stands close to me. My body hums despite my mind’s firm conviction to maintain distance between us.
I’d prefer to have this conversation over text. I feel like we can be ourselves more when we’re writing, but he’s not going to discuss anything criminal over the phone. Maybe that’s why he’s taking me to his apartment. He knows no one can listen to us there.
A reflexive smile touches my lips when I walk into his place. In the entranceway, he has some shelves with sambo trophies on them. There are photos of him and Nikolai, wearing a kimono with shorts, both of them grinning with their arms wrapped around each other.
He walks up beside me, looking down. He dares to smile. I quickly wipe mine away.
The rest of his apartment is spartan, with little decoration, though there are more photos of him and his brother on the walls. There are a few of his mother too. None of his father.
“Drink?” he asks. “Something to eat?”
“I’ll take a coffee,” I reply.
“Sure.”
I go to the window, crossing my arms over myself. The city sparkles below us, beyond his private balcony.
He carries the cups through and nods to the table. I go to the table, take mine, but remain standing. He folds his hands over his stomach, looking up at me from his chair.
“I’m the leader of the DC Bratva,” he tells me.
“The what?” I ask.
“It’s the Russian mafia.”
I put my coffee down, my hand shaking, before I drop it. My chest is tight, the same feeling I got when he brushed the hair from my face or kissed me or tied my hands with my own bra. But now something different grips me.
“You’re a mob boss.”
He nods. “In a manner of speaking.”
“What does that mean?” I hiss.
“It means that I’m a different kind of mob boss from the usual, in New York or LA or Vegas and all the rest of them. We deal in information—”
“And in blood,” I snap. “We’re both capable of watching the news.”
He pauses, fixing me with those gray eyes. They’re not cold, not for me. I don’t think they ever will be again. This is a pivotal moment. If he lies or deflects, I know there’s no chance.
What chance did we have anyway? He watched me, used me, lied to me.
“And, where necessary, in blood,” he says, nodding. “But I didn’t harm that young man. He was a civilian. I don’t hurt civilians. And I don’t hurt people unless they deserve it.”
I drop onto the couch, my legs suddenly feeling light. “When did you last hurt someone, then? Let’s start there. Is this something you’ve done in the past, or something you do, present tense?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “This morning, just after I left you.”
My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “You killed someone this morning, and you’re just sitting there like it’s no big deal?”
“I didn’t kill him,” he grunts. “I smacked him around. He works for Conrad Vale, the man who was behind the theft – and most likely behind Daniel’s murder. I was questioning him to see if he knew where Daniel was. Clearly, he didn’t.”
“So, the man’s alive?”
“No, there were other circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” I demand.
He grinds his teeth. “Your name means light, Lia. You’ve had your struggles, you’ve had your tests, but you don’t know how evil the world can truly be. You don’t know the depths people are capable of plunging to. There are evils in this world I don’t want to inflict upon you. I don’t even want you to have to think about them.”
“That’s too bad,” I say passionately. “You said you’d give me the truth.”
He sighs, then he tells me. And he’s right. It’s awful. The man had a photo album in his apartment. A photo album containing the sort of twisted, sickening images that deserve death.