“Okay, boss.”
I went straight into my office, laying the picture on my desk.
The door opened, and Alina walked in, followed by Sergei.
I nodded at Sergei, and he left, closing the door behind him.
She stood a few feet away from the door, her gaze on me, her eyes prompting me to speak like they always did. She had changed into a green sweater and dark jeans, and from the way the neck of the sweater fit, unlike every other thing she’d worn in the past few days, I could tell they were her clothes. Her hair was pulled back in the same twist, but her face looked a bit more relaxed. Her lips seemed brighter, too. I would have thought she felt better, or maybe more comfortable, had her expression not been the opposite.
I didn’t bring her here to admire her.
She’s here for interrogation.
“Explain this,” I demanded, moving the picture to the other side of the table.
She moved closer and bent slightly to examine the photograph.
“Am I supposed to know who this is?” she inquired, confusion taking over her features. “Because I’ve never seen him.”
Frustrated, I rose from my chair. Circling the desk, I stopped when I was right beside her, catching a whiff of her perfume. I told her, “If you really are clean, then prove it.”
“Tell me everything you know about Morozov’s routes, his contacts, every single thing he told or showed you,” I demanded.
She raised her chin, her voice calm as she answered, “I told you already, I know nothing. If I did, I wouldn’t still be breathing.”
My palm came down on the desk, hard and loud, making her jump.
Her reaction doubled my unease and made me dislike myself. It made me want to comfort her. But I couldn’t. This was Bratva business. If she insisted on keeping secrets, it meant trouble.
Fighting to hold on to my composure, I took a breath, lowering my voice as I said, “You’re in the middle of a war. One wrong move and you’ll be buried with the enemy.”
“Then stop treating me like the enemy,” she whispered in response, the tenderness in her voice tugging at something inside me.
I turned away and walked to the window before she could see whatever flickered across my face.
Chapter Thirteen
Alina’s POV
Konstantin turned away, walking to the window on the right. It was the first time I’d seen him lose his cool, the first time I’d heard him really raise his voice. And it was because of me. Well, I didn’t actually ask him to lose his cool, and I wasn’t lying about not knowing anything. But, technically, it all appeared like I was guilty and hiding something.
Still, the painful tension in the room didn’t have anything to do with the Bratva situation. When he banged the table, I was shaken. But it was the unease in his expression and how he lowered his voice after a calming breath that shook me even more.
I couldn’t tell if he was standing there and looking out the window because he was frustrated about not getting an answer from me, or because he was so mad at me that he couldn’t stand looking at me. Either way, I couldn’t find a way to retaliate with anger. Because as much as I didn’t want to, I felt his pain and understood the reason for his being discomfited. It made me want to do or say something to make him feel better or, at least, distract him. Anything to dilute the tense and thick atmosphere. But I didn’t know what.
What’s with him making me scramble for what to say?
I stood there, my fingers toying with the hem of my sweater. Even though he had his back to me, I could feel the rigidity of his expression. He wasn’t looking out the window like someone enjoying a view; he fixed his gaze on it as if his gaze was hard enough, whatever was bothering him would disappear.
“You had them bring my things from my apartment,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
When he didn’t say anything or make any indication that he’d heard me at all, I turned around to leave.
Well, I tried.
“You’re welcome,” I heard him say just as my hand touched the doorknob.
I opened the door and walked out, mistakenly banging it a bit.
