"Like the flower," Misha observes. "Sirén."
She looks confused. "What?"
"In Russian, lilac is sirén. The purple flower. Very beautiful. Very poisonous if you eat too much."
I shoot him ashut the fuck uplook, and he focuses on driving.
The rest of the ride passes in silence with Lila clutching her duffel bag like it contains everything she owns.
All metal and glass, my building rises forty stories into the Chicago skyline. A private elevator takes us to the top floor. Lila watches the numbers climb, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.
The doors open directly into my penthouse. The four thousand square feet of marble and glass insulate us from the city below us. It's excessive. Cold.Mine.
"Holy shit," she breathes.
"Home sweet home."
She takes a step inside, then stops. "This place is bigger than the entire diner."
"Yep."
I watch her take it in—the contemporary art that costs more than she'll make in a lifetime, the furniture that's all sharp angles and dark leather, the wall of windows that broadcasts how we’re floating above the city. Every inch is designed to impress. Intimidate.
And it's working.
"Your room is this way."
I lead her down the hallway, passing my office and the room where I keep things she doesn't need to know about, to theguest suite that’s never been used. I don't have guests. Those who visit me usually leave in body bags or with threats to keep their mouths shut.
"This is mine?" Her eyes sweep from the king-size bed to the ensuite bathroom visible through the open door, and finally, to the view that makes the city look like a jewelry box.
"For now."
She carefully sets her duffel bag on the bed. Everything about her seems too soft for this place. Too real. Too human.
I should let her settle. Offer space to think about the mess she’s fallen into. But I don’t.
Instead, I close the door behind us.
"I need to check something."
She turns, eyes flooded with confusion. "What?"
"I need to check that you're not wearing a wire."
The color drains from her face. "A wire? You think I'm?—"
"Dmitri's men could have gotten to you before tonight. They could have offered you money, threatened you, or made you a deal. I have to be certain."
"I would never?—"
"Shower. Now."
She stares at me, and I can see the moment she understands. This isn't a request. This is the price of my protection.
"You're serious."
"Dead serious. The bathroom's there. Leave your clothes on the counter."
