The clinical way he describes the security measures should be reassuring. Instead, it reminds me how dangerous our world really is, that my sister needs an army to protect her. And now, so do I.
"Lorenzo's expecting you," Dad says. "So you need to leave soon."
"I understand," I say, though understanding and accepting are two very different things.
But what choice do any of us really have?
The line goes dead. I hand the phone back to Anton, who pockets it without taking his eyes off my face.
"You don't like the Providence plan," I tell him with certainty.
"No." His answer is immediate, honest. "I don't."
"Why?"
Anton's hands clench at his sides, and for a moment, the careful control he maintains cracks slightly.
"Different territory, different rules, different chain of command." His eyes hold mine. "I'll be a guest in Lorenzo's house, following his security protocols, trusting his people with your life."
"You don't trust them?"
"I don't trust anyone else with you. But I told your father I would take you to Providence, and I will. I'm a man of my word."
The doubt that's been eating at me since last night sharpens into something cold and clear. This is Anton's pattern, beautiful words followed by swift retreats.
Ask me to dinner, then tell me he overstepped. Promise to keep me close, then arrange my exile to Providence.
I lean back against the medical table, studying Anton's face with new intensity.
"You're a man of your word? Because about an hour ago, you said I'd stay with you until you kill whoever's behind this. So which promise are you keeping? The one you made to me, or the one you just made to my father?"
Anton goes completely still, that predatory focus he wears in dangerous moments settling over him like armor.
For a heartbeat, I wonder if I've pushed too far. This is the man who systematically executed five gunmen in an alley without breaking a sweat, the Basov enforcer who makes problems disappear.
"You're absolutely right. I did promise you that, and to keep that promise, I first must follow through with your father. Ready to leave?"
I suppose I have, again, no choice in the matter. I nod. "Yes."
Anton slides one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees, lifting me from the medical table like I weigh nothing at all.
His face hovers just inches from mine, close enough that if I tilted my chin up slightly, our lips would meet. Close enough that I can see the way his pupils dilate slightly as he looks down at me.
But he doesn't kiss me. Instead, there's something gentle, almost teasing in his restraint. This is so different from the aggressive dominance other men in this life throw around. Anton is infuriatingly confusing and attractive, and I hate that I can't stop thinking about it.
"Comfortable?" His voice rumbles against my ear as he adjusts his grip.
"Getting there." I loop my arm around his neck. He is all rock-solid warm muscle.
We move toward the elevator, and the mundane act of pressing the button becomes something completely different when I'm cradled against Anton's chest. He adjusts his hold, supporting me with one arm while reaching out to hit the call button with the other.
"I'm sure you know everything there's to know about me, but you are a closed and very securely stored book."
"Was that a question?" Anton asks.
"No, it was a statement."
"You're right. I do know pretty much everything about you, Fee."
