A pause.
“You have guns in your office,” she says. “And you havemenwith gunsin your home.”
And there it is. She’s learned the truth. Or, at least, part of the truth.
“They’re for protection.”
“Protection fromwhat, exactly?” She turns to face me, but every muscle in her body is tense, coiled to run.
“From the same thing you need protection from.”
She swallows. I watch her throat bob up and down. “You say that like I’m supposed to feel grateful.”
“I’d prefer you feel alive.”
She laughs once. It softens the edges of a hard conversation.
“So it’s true. You’re connected.”
She knows. Time to find out how much.
She furrows her brow, something occurring to her in those moments. “But you’re not justconnected. That home, that office… that’s not a manconnectedto the Bratva. That’s a man whoisthe Bratva.”
I don’t answer. The silence is admission enough. Wind knifes between the towers of downtown Chicago in the waythe city is known for. She pulls her robe tighter, but it’s not enough against this cold. She’s shivering.
I step closer, slowly. “Get in the car,” I say again. “Please. You’re going to get frostbite out here.”
She stares at me for a moment, like she doesn’t recognize who I am. Then she looks over my shoulder. Bogdan is out of the car, leaning against it. I’d need to only give the word, and he’d be on her in three seconds flat. I hope it doesn’t come to that—I want her to come willingly.
But she’s coming, either way.
Gabriella turns her attention to herself. “I look like a crazy person.”
“If you ask me, you’re more than entitled to a little insanity. But all the same, I’d prefer if you didn’t freeze to death.”
One more look at me, then she glances down the block as if weighing the possibility of walking on. I glance back; Bogdan is tensed and ready to move.
She sighs. “Fine.”
I close the distance between us, offering her my hand. She takes it, and I can feel how badly she’s shaking. Moments later, I’m helping her into the car, the interior nice and warm.
We ride in silence. Chicago slides by, glass and steel and water catching light. Bogdan drives like he shoots—straight line, nothing fancy. I keep my hands still on my knees. I could reach for her, but I don’t.
She keeps her eyes on the window, jaw tight.
“You shouldn’t have gone into that wing,” I say finally. “That rule was there for a reason.”
Her mouth curls. “I shouldn’t have had to wonder what was there.”
I look at the side of her face and think for a moment about telling her everything, how I’ve watched her from the shadows since the moment she graduated high school, that I was the one connected with a scholarship that paid her way through university, that it wasn’t an accident she came to work for me.
I don’t tell her any of it. She’s not ready.
“You could’ve let me know,” she says.
“It was necessary to keep you safe.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
