"I didn't realize it was a requirement," I say. "I took self-defense lessons at the Y. I signed up after I got mugged on my second day in town. Nowthatis mortifying."
"You never should have been at the point that you would have needed to defend yourself. I know Father already reassigned your entire security team." Dmitri is standing at the end of the corridor and damn, he looks like the guy who will ruin you for all mankind and you will enjoy every minute of it.
"Privet, moy syn,"Ella says fondly as he walks over to us, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "I was just talking to Ava here about self-defense."
He frowns. "That is a good point. Are you finished with my-" he pauses for a moment and then continues smoothly, "-with Ava for the day?"
Ella raises an elegant brow at him, but says, "Oh yes. It was wonderful to have her assist on the surgeries today.Twoof them," she says sharply, "both abdominal wounds."
"Things have stepped up with the Morales Cartel," he says softly and she nods with a frown. "I'm having a meeting with Father and Uncle Yuri tomorrow."
"All right," she says. "Please be safe." Turning, she gives me a warm smile, "I'll see you tomorrow. We have a laparoscopy to clear out some scar tissue, plus an exploratory surgery to see if the patient is a good candidate for an artificial disk replacement." Ella strides down the corridor, humming.
"Your mother is an amazing mentor. She's so encouraging and it's a fascinating technique to learn. I can't tell you how it feels to be at the beginning of something new and miraculous."
He's looking down at me with a smile that's kind but his eyes… They're intense, searching my face in a way that I don't understand. "I'm glad," he says. "I'll take you home. You can relax for a moment and then we'll work on some self-defense moves."
"No, really," I protest. "My friend Priya and I took self-defense classes together. Miss Monica was our teacher; she was very encouraging. Well, with Priya, at least, since she had me down on the mat five times for every time I got the jump on her," I say sourly.
"You miss Priya." It's not a question, he understands. "Has she had any information or updates from the hospital?"
"No," I say, frowning as he opens the SUV door for me. "Whatever you said to HR made them certainly keep quiet about me." Dmitri attempts an innocent smile that is not at all successful. "Priya did say that there haven't been any reports of staff missing, no odd disappearances." I give a humorless laugh. "Aside from mine. Which makes me think that in a crowded city, maybe all it takes is a letter of resignation and no one questions why you're just… gone."
I look out the window, trying to hide the unwelcome surge of tears. I thought I'd built a life here, made friends. But it feels like I disappeared without a ripple. My mind starts racing, cycling. Have I really not made enough of a difference to matter? Is my mark on the world so easy to wipe away?
That's why the traffickers took you.The ugly little voice sounds just like my father's.No one would miss you.
"Did Priya say anything about-"
"I don't know-"
Dmitri smiles. "You first."
"It doesn't- it's not important." I rub my forehead.
Are you a fucking idiot? Pay attention!Dad's voice is still remarkably clear.
"...if Priya had heard anything about-" He breaks off, studying my face. "You must be exhausted."
"I'm fine." I chase my thoughts as they run around me in a circle like a yappy little dog. "You were asking if…?"
"You'll eat first," he says firmly. "We can talk after." I'm so grateful for the quiet that I could cry.
***
Dmitri is having none of my assurances that I was fine, justfine. When we return to the penthouse, he sends me to the shower, leaving a sports bra and leggings on my bed.
"Bossy," I mumble, but I pull them on anyway. When I head out to the kitchen, he's dressed in a t-shirt, thin from dozens of washings stretched tight against his broad chest and gray sweatpants. I wish I could stealthily take a picture of his ass in those pants to send to Priya because we are both big fans of gray sweatpants porn.
Then, just to prove he's the most perfect man in North America, Dmitri serves me a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich for lunch. "Dear god, this sandwich is art!" I moan, chewing blissfully. "The perfect ratio of crispy bacon to tomato. The bread toasted for the right crunch. You are possibly my favorite human being right now."
He's leaning back in his chair, one thick finger running over his lips, having abandoned his lunch to watch me eat.
I look at my sandwich, tucking in a strip of bacon trying to break free. "How did you know I liked BLTs?"
"Who doesn't like BLTs?" Dmitri retorts, taking a bite of his.
"A communist," I say gravely. "Only a communist would hate- Wait. Is that insulting? The communist mention? Were your people in Mother Russia communists?"
