"Yeah. Everything loads rather slowly, but it’s still enough."
"Wow," I blurt out.
"The post I put up on my blog already has fifty thousand shares. For now I’m not writing anything overtly negative. Butwho knows what I’ll end up writing later. If they push things too far, I’ll always have an audience ready for a scandal."
"For the folks out there this must be fascinating. All the secrecy around this program, plus how much resentment it attracts. People will be even more eager to read what you write. That definitely makes your post hot."
I rub my chin. "Listen, there are a few things I wanted to check online, and I don’t want it going through their internet gateway. Would it be okay if I used it later?"
Eliano’s face, which had been kind of lit up during the conversation, suddenly darkens. His gaze drifts over my face, and something shifts between us.
"Sure," he says curtly, almost icily.
Right. Just a moment ago, he must have briefly forgotten about our earlier conversation, but now it comes rushing back.
Does he suspect I need to look up something that could help me with an escape plan? Whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t say a word. He turns his head back toward the screen, and his energy grows heavy and withdrawn.
We sit there for a moment. I chew on my nails, wondering what to do, my eyes sliding over his naked forearms, the pronounced veins catching my attention without me even realizing it. Gosh, this is awkward.
Finally, Eliano puts the phone away and closes the laptop.
"Dinner is coming up. Let’s get going," he says in a forced neutral tone.
He steps into the bathroom for a moment. When he comes back, he does not say anything, just waits for me by the door.
At dinner, we sit with Evan and Roman again, along with a group of other couples. Evan introduces us one by one. Apparently, these are the people they usually hang out with.
I do not remember even half the names, but once again I am grateful to Eliano for carrying the weight of small talk.
Of course, the topic drifts back to those damn fights, which makes Eliano frown every time and give evasive answers. Also, at some point, Roman asks me if I like dancing, because there is a party coming up. I say that I actually do, which he greets with enthusiasm.
After dinner, when we get back to our unit, Eliano pulls the laptop out again, completely zoned in, and the whole scenario repeats itself almost exactly as before!
I stand by the window like an idiot, gnawing on my fingers, stupidly wanting to have some kind of connection with him, another conversation, or… a handjob.
Yeah. Damn it. I’m breaking my own rules. Honestly, fuck that.
The problem is choosing a topic. I have to avoid anything that could turn into bonding, lead to actually getting to know each other, or, Fate forbid, closeness. And yet those are exactly the things pulling at me.
I simply wantsomething, even if it’s just the sound of his voice or his eyes landing on me for a second. Pathetic!
"So," I say, putting on what I hope passes for casual indifference, "mafia boy, right? What do they teach you growing up? Mafia family upbringing sounds like a thrill."
Eliano’s face twitches, just slightly, like I stuck him with a pin.
"What do you mean by thrill?" he asks flatly.
Right. That sounded way better in my head. I shoot him a crooked half smile. "You know. Shooting guns, smoking cigars, car racing… The stuff you see in movies."
The look he gives me is impossible to read, almost too still, like a hunting lion that’s decided not to move yet.
"Is that what mafia means to you?"
Damn. It somehow went the wrong way. What I actually want is a normal conversation, not this half-teasing thing.
"Seeing people killed, including your own parents, seeing folks raped, drugged, beaten, and forced to be an obedient dog with electric shocks wasn’t a thrill to me," he says calmly. "But yeah. I can shoot guns. And I can smoke cigars. If that’s what you wanted to hear."
"Uhhh. Heavy stuff," I mutter gloomily.
