I twist toward the elevator as best as I can. The doors grind open with metallic protest, and harsh interior light silhouettes Alexei as his broad shoulders fill the frame.
He’s different. The rigid control, the cold calculation I’ve come to expect, has fractured. He appears exhausted and disheveled, his hair mussed as if he’s been running his hands through it. And angry. Not the measured, purposeful rage I’ve witnessed before, but a raw fury that’s ragged around the edges.
In his hand is the kind of battered cardboard pet carrier you get at animal shelters.
My breath catches in my throat.
He stalks toward the table, his footsteps heavy with barely contained frustration. Without a word, he drops the carrier onto the table.
I stare at the box, comprehension dawning. “Is that…?”
He glares at the carrier as if the cardboard personally offends him. “Stupid fucking cat got cut on the broken glass in your apartment. Cost a fortune to patch up the foot. Needed a few stitches. Could’ve done it myself and saved a lot of trouble.” He whips out a knife and proceeds to cut the zip ties from my wrists. “Go on. Take your little demon.”
The carrier’s flap falls open. I hold my breath.
A small orange head with twitching whiskers peeks out.
Pixie.
But how? I left her in my apartment with extra food and water when Alexei took me. Figured she’d be safer there than here with this killer. Though, admittedly, neither option’s ideal.
This doesn’t make any sense.
Then it hits me.
Not only did Alexei return to an apartment that’s probably being watched by Gio’s men to retrieve my cat, he took her to a vet. Paid for her to get treated. Brought her back to his place.
For me.
My mind struggles to reconcile these actions with the man who murdered someone in front of me, abducted me, and questioned me for hours. The man who kissed me like he wanted to possess me, then restrained me and left me alone for only God knows how long without explanation.
“You…took her to a vet?” The words come out shaky.
“Animal fucking emergency.” He straightens, rolling his shoulders as if they ache. “Whole place smelled like disinfectant and desperation. Never again.”
Pixie emerges fully from the carrier, moving with the careful dignity of a creature not quite sure of its surroundings. Despite the shaved area on the side of her left rear paw, she doesn’t limp.
My chest tightens.
Why did Alexei do this for me?
He reaches back into the elevator to drag out more items. A litter box. Kitty litter. Cat food. A small bed with a cushion. Even toys. He tosses each item onto the floor with casual disregard.
A dangerous warmth spreads through my chest. Surely not from gratitude. I refuse to be grateful to the man who upended my life and who’s currently keeping me captive in his fortress ofglass and steel. I note the exhaustion etched around his eyes and the slight droop of his shoulders beneath the leather jacket.
He did this for me.
Not because he had to or because it benefited him in any way. He risked going back to my apartment, spent who knows how much money at an emergency animal clinic, and endured hours in a waiting room, for a cat. For my cat.
Forme.
The revelation is too big and complicated to process. His recent actions don’t align with everything else I’ve learned about him. “I don’t suppose you grabbed me a change of clothes while you were there.”
His spine snaps into a straight line. I can tell by his surprise that the thought didn’t even occur to him. “Don’t push your luck,” he grumbles. “Your cat was a menace. She’s lucky I didn’t drop her off in a dumpster.”
Unperturbed by his threat, Pixie arches her back and stretches, then pads over to examine Alexei’s boots with feline curiosity. He shoots her a look I can’t quite peg, some mix of annoyance and reluctant affection.
“She likes you.” The words escape before I can stop them.
