He hesitated, then continued. "Remember five years ago? After you came back from—" he paused, weighing his words, "after that girl left.You were different then. Yeah, you went ballistic later, but before that..."
My heart clenched.
"Don't bring her up."
"Why not?" Dmitri's tone turned serious. "Alexander, I've never seen you like that. Angry? Yeah, you were furious. But before that? I'd never seen you in that state—like an actual living person instead of a cold machine."
I turned back to my glass.
"That was five years ago."
"But you're still thinking about her, aren't you?"
My silence was answer enough.
Dmitri sighed. "You know what the problem is?"
"I don't need psychoanalysis."
"You need to face reality," he wasn't backing down from my cold shoulder. "Why did Tatyana cheat? Not because she found a better man. Because she knew—she always knew—she'd never have your heart. Because your heart was never with her in the first place."
My fingers started drumming against the bar—my tell when I was getting agitated.
"Since when?" Dmitri pressed on. "Since five years ago. Since that redhead."
"Enough." My voice dropped to a warning level.
"No, not enough," but Dmitri was clearly going all in tonight. "You think I don't know you still carry something of hers in your wallet? Think I haven't noticed how you always take a second look at redheads?"
"Dmitri—"
"She hurt you, I get it," he cut me off. "The way she left, that note she left behind—that was brutal. But have you ever considered maybe she had her reasons?"
"What reason could justify doing something like that?" I finally exploded, keeping my voice low but emotions spilling over. "Treating everything like a transaction, thinking a hundred bucks could just wipe theslate clean?"
"Maybe she was scared," Dmitri's voice softened. "Did you ever think of that? Some regular girl suddenly finds out she slept with the Pakhan of the Bratva. What do you think went through her head?"
I froze.
That angle... I'd never really considered it.
"She knew who I was?"
"You said it yourself—she's a journalist," Dmitri reminded me. "If she looked up your name..."
My mind raced. If she had researched me, seen those news reports about violence, arms dealing, organized crime...
What would she have thought?
She'd be terrified. Afraid. Want to run.
Shit.
"So she wasn't trying to humiliate you," Dmitri said quietly. "She might've just been protecting herself."
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath.
All these years, I'd thought she rejected me, that she reduced everything between us to some transaction that could be settled with cash.
