Geoffrey squeezed her shoulder and I saw Raven's posture stiffen as she braced herself. She turned her face toward him, a polite smile plastered on her lips, but her neck was rigid.
I couldn't hear them over the din of the restaurant, but I could read the body language. Geoffrey was explaining something simple, gesturing with his free hand, while the other lingered too long on her velvet-clad shoulder. A condescending smirk on his little rat face.
Finally, she pulled away with a subtle shift of her weight.
He laughed and patted her arm. Patted her. Like a goddamn dog.
I felt a sharp, hot pressure in my chest. An unfamiliar rage that had nothing to do with the job. This wasn't professional detachment. This was the urge to walk across the dining room, grab Geoffrey by the back of his cheap bowtie, and introduce his face to the Steinway's ivory keys.
Calm down. You're not even supposed to be here. To her, you're a ghost. Ghosts don't break noses in public.
Geoffrey finally walked away and left Raven sitting alone on the bench.
She reached up and brushed the spot on her shoulder where he’d touched her. As if wiping away dirt.
Then, her head tilted.
She did it again. That same, sharp, bird-like movement. Cocking her head to the side, exposing the column of her throat, and I realized she was listening. Filtering the room.
I closed my eyes, wanting to experience the world the way she did. I heard waiters dropping cutlery. Ice hitting glass. The murmur of a deal going down at table four.
When I opened my eyes again, she was still just sitting there. But she wasn't preparing to play another song.
She was cataloging everything going on around her.
One side of my mouth began to curve as I realized then what I'd suspected all along. She wasn't harmless at all. She was a sponge.
The smile fell as quickly as it'd appeared. If she put the pieces together of what went on in this place, or worse, what had happened that night in the alley, then Viktor was right, she would be dangerous.
I should tell him. That was the smart play. The professional play. Viktor would handle it, and I'd go back to my usual job.
My jaw clenched until it ached.
I stared at her profile, the soft lighting catching the stray hairs that had escaped her updo and were now teasing the edges of her face.
No.
The word surfaced from somewhere deep within me, somewhere I didn't recognize.
I would tell Viktor nothing.
And if that made me a liability too? So be it.
Although if Viktor found out I was compromised, he wouldn't hesitate. He'd put a bullet in her. Then one in me.
I'd deserve it, and maybe she would too. But that didn't mean I was going to let it happen.
Those elegant fingers drifted across the keys, and the melody that followed poured into the hollow spaces of my chest. Melancholy. Haunting. The notes vibrated against the emptiness, making my lungs tight and my blood heavy. It made me…feel.
Sorry, Vik. We're going off-script.
CHAPTER 5
MILO
Ineeded a reset. My new obsession was itching under my skin, making me sloppy.
So when Enzo Delligatti called with a cleanup job, I took it.
