Instead of flinching, she simply nodded.
I stepped out of the room and shut the door behind me.
“Boss! Boss!!” Sergei Malenkov rushed over to me as I exited the hallway.
“Sergei, what’s going on?”
“I just got intel that Russian forces are looking for Alina. They’ve gotten the information that you have her. She’s already on the wanted criminals list in Russia,” he divulged, falling into step with me as I ascended the stairs.
This just got more urgent.
Chapter Seven
Alina’s POV
“I didn’t believe you would be up until I saw Sir Konstantin leave,” Ruslan stated, walking into the room. “Do you not sleep at all?”
I chuckled, “Of course, I slept. I only just woke up now.”
“Nah, you don’t call that sleep. It’s a nap,” he argued, shaking his head as he pulled the chair to the side of the shelf and sat in it.
“Well, that was the longest I could do,” I said. “This place isn’t exactly sleep-inducing.”
“That, I understand,” he stated. “Being brought here against your will, finding out how entangled you are in something you had no idea of, and even,” he waved his hand around, “this room with no windows. It’s definitely the opposite of a pleasant experience.”
“You don’t say,” I murmured.
“I just did.”
“It was a sarcastic comment,” I proclaimed.
“I know,” he drawled, combing his blonde hair back with his hand.
“Thanks for earlier. The clothes, especially. They don’t smell old or stuffy, and God knows how big a selection you had to look through.”
“It’s fine. You’re welcome.”
“You don’t strike me as a Bratva man. I can’t picture you handling a gun or even doing anything remotely violent.”
“Really? What can you picture me doing, then?”
“Hmm,” I vocalized, squinting my eyes in thought. “Writing fiction, teaching kids…”
“What?!” he cut in, laughing.
“Or maybe being a painter.”
“Painter?”
“Or a cook. Yes, that’s very imaginable. Even if I haven’t tasted any of the kitchen creations you’ve bragged so much about.”
“You’ll taste them very shortly. It’ll be time for breakfast soon,” he answered. “Why would you ever picture me as a writer? I don’t hate reading, but…writing? And you specifically mentioned fiction.”
“You’re just, you know, carefree and fun. Like someone who spends a lot of time in an unreal world.”
“Because there are not enough reasons to be happy in the real world?”
“I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking that question right now,” I answered, half-rolling my eyes. “Anyway, I can picture you teaching kids, being a teacher at an elementary school, because I think you have a way of making people feel at ease, like, forget the bad for a while. That’s a crucial skill when it comes to dealing with kids. Trust me, I know.”
