His phone buzzed just as he stripped off his gloves, and he pulled it out, his expression darkening as he read the message. The muscle in his jaw twitched again.
What a tell-tale sign. Shouldn’t he have more of a poker face? Especially in the high-stakes world he was living in? Or did he drop his mask on purpose? Was he letting me see a side of him—emotions—he usually hid to make me drop my defenses? Ugh. Stop overthinking.
“We leave in a couple of hours,” he said flatly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He closed the first aid kit with more force than necessary.
Was he angry because he’d just received bad news, or was it that he was taking orders that had his panties in a twist?
“Trouble in paradise?” I asked while wiping my feet clean. The alcohol stung, but I couldn’t help the smirk that formed on my lips. “Your masters yanking your chain?”
His eyes narrowed. “Careful, Shorty.”
Careful? Really? This man was holding me against my will after he’d caught me when I could almost taste freedom. We were way beyond being careful. And what was it with the nickname? Well, anyway. The real question was what would happen if I pushed him to the edge, or at least annoyed him enough to lose his cool?
“What’s wrong, Zotov? Don’t like being reminded you’re just a dog on a tight leash following orders?” I tilted my head, ignoring the twinge of dizziness. “Good boy. Sit. Stay. Fetch the Salvini girl.”
He narrowed his eyes for a millisecond before he relaxed again. “Takes one to know one.” He scoffed, grabbed the first aid kit, took the dirty wipes from my hands, and moved toward the kitchen. “A Mafia princess locked in her tower, her whole life being controlled by her family? At least my leash is of my choosing.”
That stung more than it should have. “Nobody controls me. And I don’t just sit around and wait, you know.”
“No? Then what exactly are you doing in your ivory tower, reframing online shopping as assisting the world economy?” He pulled out a can from the cupboard and a pot from beneath the counter, movements sharp with irritation. “At least your sister has some secrets, however ill-directed.”
My blood ran cold. My sister had secrets? What the hell was he talking about? Wait, he thought I was Mira, so then he was talking about me having secrets. Fuck. I kept my face carefully neutral. Did he know? Did they somehow find out about Iset? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course, you don’t.” His tone was dismissive as he opened the can—soup, apparently—and emptied it into the pot.
I watched him stir the soup with unnecessary force, his shoulders tense. Despite everything, I felt a strange urge to ease that tension. Which was ridiculous. This man had kidnapped me. Was using me against my family and potentially knew my biggest secret. I should want him to be miserable.
Yet something in his rigid posture, in the controlled way he handled his frustration, reminded me of Vince when he was carrying burdens he wouldn’t share.
“So what did the text say?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended. “Bad news?”
Zotov glanced over his shoulder, surprise briefly replacing the irritation in his eyes. He studied me for a moment as if trying to figure out if my question was another attack. “Just news that we’ll stay holed up here for a couple of hours longer before we can leave.”
So the real reason he seemed so bummed out was because he was stuck with me for a couple of hours? I shouldn’t care, but somehow the way he hated my existence and our current situation as much as I did was rubbing me the wrong way.
He poured the soup into two bowls and carried them over, then, without so much as a blink, lifted me off the table and into one of the chairs, and pressed a spoon into my hand. “Eat—you’ll need the fuel.”
I cocked my head, which caused another wave of dizziness. Maybe eating something wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I didn’t need nausea added to my dizziness. I put the spoon down.
He sat down opposite me, watched me put down the spoon, and narrowed his brows. His gaze met mine, and he took what felt like an eternity to study me. “What’s wrong? Are you nauseous, or did you expect champagne and caviar?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Then eat, or I’ll feed you.”
I glared at him. “Maybe the company is so repulsive, I can’t possibly force anything down.”
“The company is definitely losing his nerve. I think there’s some of that tranquilizer around, so either you behave, or else…”
I scoffed. “Is this what you usually do with your women? Threaten them?”
His eyes darkened. “You now one of my women?” he asked, and I immediately recognized my error.
“You wanna know what I’m usually doing with my women?”
The way he put the emphasis on “my women” was dangerous and possessive at the same time.
He got up, rounded the table, lifted me up, sat down, and put me on his lap in one fluid motion, which showed it wasn’t the first time he’d used this move.
