“The truth is complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to open up, going to tear down the walls between them and let her see what he was really thinking. Instead, he looked away.
“The truth is that we’re both fucked up people trying to make the best of a bad situation,” he said. “The truth is that caring about you is dangerous for both of us.”
“And if I’m willing to take that risk?”
“Then you’re braver than I am.”
With that, he got out of the car and walked toward the house, leaving her sitting alone in the darkness with more questions than answers and the growing certainty that her feelings for Viktor Nikolai were about to destroy her all over again.
But this time, she wasn’t sure she cared.
Chapter 12 - Viktor
His phone had been buzzing like an angry wasp for the past two hours, and he was starting to consider throwing it into the Hudson River. Each call brought another crisis that needed his immediate attention, another fire that only he could apparently put out. The shipping delays in Rotterdam, the customs issues in Miami, and the contractor in Chicago, who was suddenly having second thoughts about their arrangement.
All of it required his personal intervention, and all of it was happening while he was supposed to be playing bodyguard to his wife.
“You know you can just answer it, right?” Anka said, pausing in front of a display of vintage jewelry. “I’m not going to spontaneously combust if you take a business call.”
“I’m working,” he said, declining another call from Marcus. “My job right now is keeping you safe and entertained.”
“Your job is running a multimillion-dollar empire, and from the sound of things, it’s currently on fire.” She turned away from the jewelry case to give him an exasperated look. “Seriously, Viktor, I can entertain myself for ten minutes while you handle whatever crisis is making your phone have a seizure.”
“It’s handled.”
“Is it? Because you’ve been white-knuckling that phone like it owes you money, and you’ve checked the time approximately thirty-seven times in the past hour.”
Thirty-seven times. Christ, she had actually been counting.
“I’m an excellent bodyguard,” he said, deflecting with humor. “I’ve been tracking and trailing people my whole life,watching for threats, anticipating problems before they happen. You couldn’t ask for better protection.”
“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t buying it, but she played along. “And your qualifications for this position include...?”
“Twenty-three years of staying alive in a business where people regularly try to kill me. Extensive training in firearms, hand-to-hand combat, and tactical driving. Plus, I look good in a suit while doing it.”
That got a laugh out of her, the first genuine one he’d heard all week. The sound hit him right in the chest, reminding him of all the reasons he’d fallen for her in the first place.
“Very impressive credentials,” she said with mock seriousness. “Though I have to say, most professional bodyguards don’t spend quite so much time glaring at their phones.”
“Most professional bodyguards don’t have other responsibilities.”
“Exactly my point.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice even though they were the only customers in the small boutique. “Viktor, I don’t need a babysitter. If work is calling, answer it. Handle whatever needs handling. I’ll be fine browsing for another hour or two.”
The problem was, he didn’t want to leave her alone. Not because he was worried about her safety—they were in broad daylight in a busy shopping district with three of his men positioned at strategic points around the area. No, he didn’t want to leave because he was enjoying this. Watching her light up at small discoveries, listening to her make wry observations about overpriced handbags and pretentious sales clerks, just existing in the same space without the weight of their complicated history crushing the air out of the room.
But his phone buzzed again, and this time it was Kostya’s emergency line. Which meant whatever was happening had escalated beyond Marcus’s ability to handle.
“Fuck,” he muttered, accepting the call. “What’s the situation?”
“The Chicago thing just got complicated,” Kostya’s voice was tense. “Our friend decided he wants to renegotiate terms, and he’s brought some new friends to the conversation. Russian friends.”
Russian friends. That changed everything. What had been a simple contract dispute was now potentially a territorial war with the Bratva families operating out of the Midwest.
“How many friends?”
