“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy doing what?” Sal closes the door behind them, his analytical gaze taking in the empty bottle, the scattered papers, the general state of disarray that’s taken over my usually pristine space. “You disappeared for two days without a word.”
“I was working the Durov case.”
“With the Ice Princess?” Luca drops onto my couch, making himself comfortable. “How’s that going? Still convinced she’s your ally rather than your assignment?”
The casual reference to Kira as an assignment sends fresh irritation through me. “Her name is Kira.”
“Oh, it’s Kira now?” Luca’s eyebrows rise with interest. “First name basis? How intimate.”
“Shut up, Luca.” I bark.
“Touched a nerve, did I?” He grins with the satisfaction of someone who’s found the right button to push. “Tell Uncle Luca all about it.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Bullshit,” Gio interjects with his usual bluntness. “You’ve been MIA for forty-eight hours, you’re drunk at eight PM on a Tuesday, and you look like someone ran over your dog. Something happened.”
I consider lying. Consider maintaining professional distance and operational security and all the other bullshit protocols that are supposed to keep situations like this from becoming personal.
Instead, I pour myself another drink and tell them everything.
About the surveillance mission that went wrong. About Kira freezing under fire, and me putting three men on the ground toprotect her. About the safehouse, what happened between us, and how she dismissed it all as stress relief this morning.
“Well,” Luca says when I finish, “that’s certainly more exciting than my week.”
“Helpful insight,” I mutter.
“You want helpful insight?” He leans forward, his expression more serious than usual. “You’re thinking with your dick instead of your brain.”
“Luca—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“No, hear me out.” He holds up a hand to forestall my objection. “You just told us that her brother is funneling money to Durov, her father refuses to investigate, and her entire family is stonewalling any attempt to find the truth. Then she fucks you and suddenly acts like it never happened.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Sal chimes in, his analytical mind working through the timeline. “Think about it strategically, Rafa. What better way to keep you loyal and distracted than to sleep with you and then withdraw? Classic manipulation technique.”
“She’s not manipulating me,” I insist, but doubt already creeps around the edges.
“How can you be sure?” Gio asks quietly. “How can you be sure about anything about her family?”
The question hangs in the air, echoing thoughts I’ve been trying to suppress since this morning. Kira’s sudden coldness, her dismissal of our connection, her continued defense of Alexei despite mounting evidence...
“Maybe she’s in on it,” Luca says with characteristic directness. “Maybe the whole family is playing you, and she’s just the prettiest piece on the board.”
“That’s not—” I start to object, but the words die in my throat.
Because what if it is true? What if every moment between us has been calculated? What if her virginity, her vulnerability, her response to my touch—what if it was all performance?
“Look,” Luca continues, his voice gentler now, “I’m not saying she definitely played you. But you have to consider the possibility. Especially given what’s at stake.”
“What’s at stake,” I repeat numbly.
“Your life,” Gio says bluntly. “Your family’s survival. Everything.”
I drain my glass, the alcohol burning a path down my throat that matches the sick feeling spreading through my chest. “She saved my life, too, you know. In the warehouse. Warned me about the third shooter.”
