“There’s a kitchen on the floor below us. Head downstairs when you’re ready and I’ll join you in a minute.” I point to the other connecting door. “The bathroom’s through there. Help yourself to a shower. Everything you need is inside.”
I leave before she chokes out an answer, striding down the hallway into my bedroom, closing the door and resting against the inside for a second as I get back my equilibrium.
Note to self: never try to enact plans for revenge on a moment’s notice. When Ciprian didn’t automatically choose to do the right thing, I should have just paid him to spurn Gabriel’s offer.
I can still do that. It goes on the ideas list for tomorrow.
Shaking off my melancholy, I jump into the shower to wash all traces of the night away. Once I’m clean and have dried myself off, I change into sweats and a black tee. Walking downstairs, I detour to the sideboard in the dining room to pour a large scotch.
That doesn’t even start to do the trick, and I pour another, swallowing it as quickly as the first. The third, I force myself to savour. There’s a thin line between relaxed and drunk and my family history isn’t great when it comes to addiction.
Once my composure is within shouting distance, I head into the kitchen to find Crimson perched on a stool like the world’s prettiest gargoyle, sipping a glass of water. The cuffs of her trousers are rolled over several times to transform them to the right length. The sleeves of her cardigan are shoved up to her elbows.
“My staff have gone home for the day, but I can fix you anything you like,” I offer. A crease appears on her forehead. “We both missed dinner,” I explain, “and I’m starving but you don’t need to eat if you don’t want. It’ll just be nice to have company.”
She stares at the expanse of shelving, counters, and stovetops with eyes so wide they border on awe.
“Yeah, it’s a bit much but when I first moved in, I thought I’d be entertaining a lot more than I do.”
Crimson scrunches her face, then steps down from her chair and moves to the gigantic refrigerator to inspect the shelves. “Do you want a stir-fry? Or I can make a sandwich?”
“I saidI’dmake you something.” Despite my protest, I happily move to a stool and watch her poking around while I sip at whatever-number-scotch I’m up to. “But a sandwich sounds great.”
She pulls out a variety of fillings and condiments, then searches the cupboards for everything else she needs, pulling out a panini press I didn’t even know I owned. While buttering some bread, she asks, “Did your dad bring you into the organisation?”
My gaze narrows then I relax. While being held in jail, the periodic interviews made me antsy. It takes a second to remind myself, she’s not a cop. The question isn’t a trap. She’s trying to make polite conversation.
“Another man did. Oskar Hillam.”
“Syndicate or Serbian Mafia?”
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow and smile. “So, you’re all up in the business, are you?”
“Just a little. I’ve heard on the grapevine that things up here have been tense.”
Crimson wrinkles her nose again on the last word and I can’t help laughing, even though the conflict has cost me more than one good man. “Syndicate. I head a silo up here.” Since she offered the information, I poke a bit more. “Is your father in better with them or his fellow countrymen?”
“Hardly fellows. Four generations removed via Sydney and those blood ties start to feel pretty weak.”
“Nice way to dodge the question.”
“Hm. I thought that was just the basic training. Unless you want to spill all your secrets, too?”
My smile broadens at the mischievous tilt of her nose. “Nah. I’m good holding onto them just a bit longer.”
A shadow falls over her face and she busies herself arranging fillings before opening the panini press and sliding the thick sandwiches inside. “This’ll just take a couple more minutes.”
“Sounds good to me.” I drain the last of my glass and walk back to the drawing room to pour another. “Fancy a drink?”
“Am I allowed to drink with whatever you gave me?”
The party seems so long ago I take a moment to remember. The migraine. The dark room. The unexpected opportunity that’s now turned around to bite me. “Probably not recommended but I doubt it’ll kill you.”
The tinkle of her laughter sends a shot of joy arcing straight into my chest.
“Oh, well. If youdoubt it, that sounds safe enough.”
“Hey, if I’m wrong, there’s a doctor coming.”
