“Me? In case you've forgotten, I'm using the information thatyougave me. Maybe some of the information is…faulty,” I stated through clenched teeth.
“Or maybe you've been bluffing about your skills this entire time, just like I knew you were.”
“Just because you couldn't find anything out doesn't mean I can't! You probably gave me wrong information so you'd have an excuse to go after my father and keep me as a damn piece in your sick game!”
“You really think I'd waste time and resources and marry you for a lark? Bratva men don't marry outside Bratva. Those few that do? They regret it.”
So now he regrets marrying me when it was his own damn idea?
My stomach twisted, half with anger, half with annoyance. Yes, our marriage was contractual, but did he really have to make it sound like being married to me was the worst thing he'd ever done in his life?
“If you think I'm bluffing, give me a name, and I'll prove to you that I'm more than capable of getting the job done,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Why the hell did I feel the need to prove myself to him? Ugh.
“Fine.” He spun his chair to face his laptop. “Let's see who's trending online.”
After a few clicks on his keyboard, he turned to me. “Dig up everything you can on Monica Pier. She's been a model for three years.”
I nodded.
Luckily for me, just then Avit got a call and stepped out of the office to take it.
When he stepped back into the office five minutes later, I was leaned back in my chair.
“What's the matter, Mrs. Safin? The task was too hard for you?”
“Quite the contrary, Mr. Avit,” I began with a smirk.
Amusement flicked in his eyes as he leaned against the desk right next to me and folded his arms, highlighting the muscles in his biceps.
“Okay, well, what did you find out?”
I swallowed hard. “Monica Pier, age nineteen, though she claims she’s twenty-two, got her first gig at sixteen. She falsified her records, not only changing her age but also her name; her original name was Annie Wilson. After murdering her abusive stepmother, her half-sister, Stacy St. Hill, a police officer, helped cover it up. Afterwards, she moved from Pennsylvania to California.”
I continued, detailing her rise over the past three years: the agents she manipulated, the strategic alliances, the financial transfers, and the photos and evidence she used to blackmail and climb in the modeling world.
When I was finished, I leaned back and a smile was tugged on the edges of Avit's lips. “Not bad, Mrs. Safin. I must say I'm impressed.”
My heart fluttered. “So can you admit it now that I'm not bluffing?”
“What I can admit, Mrs. Safin, is that I'm impressed that you can get information on a random person. Which means that the person we're looking for isn't. They've got their bases covered, and they don't want us to find them. The question is, can your skillset go the extra distance?”
I glared at him and shot to my feet. “Are you freaking kidding me? If my skillset can go the extra distance? What aboutyour skillset? You've got ties to the damn mafia and can't seem to find out who my father's selling your shit to!!!”
Avit pushed off the table, eyes narrowing. The air between us snapped like a fragile twig. I took a step back. He took one forward. Again and again, we moved until my back hit the bookshelf.
Instinctively, I raised my hands to brace myself. He stopped inches away, close enough that the heat from his chest warmed my palms. I met his gaze before I could stop myself. His eyes were unreadable, not that cold, practiced blankness he usually wore. There was something else there. Anger? Wounded pride? His ego fractured because he couldn't get the job done and needed the help of a woman?
Shit. I might’ve just fucked up with my last statement. I think I took things too far this time.
“Normally, when people are complimented, Mrs. Dristovetz, they say thank you.” His eyes bore into mine. “The fact that you were able to do what you did in such a short time was impressive. You’ve narrowed down our target. It’s not some random nobody—it’s someone with power, enough contacts to vanish when they want to.”
Then he placed one hand on the shelf behind me and leaned in, his chest brushing my palms.
“Don’t get too cocky. This deal was your idea. I never asked for your help; you offered it. And if you can’t pull it off…” his lips tilted in a dangerous smirk. “Maybe I’ll have to strike another kind of deal with you.”
His gaze flicked to my lips. And mine to his. With my palms pressed to his chest and his breath ghosting over my skin, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel if he pulled meagainst him and kissed me…until the only thoughts left were of him.
