"You know everything about me, Dmitri. Everything. You have people watching me. Reporting to you. You knew I was at Nexus that night. You knew about my dinner with James. You probably know what I texted Amanda this morning and what color underwear I'm wearing right now."
I don't respond.
"And what do I know about you?" She tilts her head. "What's in your file. What my brothers' intelligence gathered. Surface information. Business dealings. Known associates. Criminal history."
"You know more than that."
"Do I?" Her laugh holds no humor. "I know your father just died. I know you have siblings you care about. I know you like control and you're possessive and you kiss like you're trying to consume me whole. But that's not knowing someone, Dmitri."
The appetizers arrive. Delicate plates arranged with artistic precision. Neither of us looks at them.
"What do you want to know?" I ask.
"Everything." She spreads her hands. "I want to know what you were like as a child. What made you laugh. What made you cry. I want to know your favorite book and whether you prefer mornings or nights and what you dream about when you actually sleep. I want to know the things that aren't in any file. The things you've never told anyone."
"I don't—" I stop. Start again. "I don't talk about those things."
"I know." Her voice gentles. "That's the problem. I've been raised among men who don't talk about those things."
I stare at her across the table.
"You think I'm hiding from you."
"I think you're hiding from everyone." She picks up her chopsticks, selecting a piece of sashimi with casual grace. "I think you've been hiding so long you've forgotten there's anything to hide. And I think if we're going to do this—really do this—I need more than surveillance reports and possessive declarations."
She eats the sashimi. Chews. Swallows.
I haven't moved.
"The three months," I say slowly. "You wanted them for this. For... talking."
"For learning each other. Yes." She meets my eyes. "Not for you to seduce me in empty theaters while I still don't know your middle name."
"Alexei."
She blinks. "What?"
"My middle name. Dmitri Alexei Baganov." I lean back in my chair, something loosening in my chest. "After my father. It's tradition. The firstborn son carries the father's name."
A small smile curves her lips. "See? That wasn't so hard."
"It felt like pulling teeth."
"Then we have a lot of dental work ahead of us." She gestures at my untouched plate. "Eat. The omakase is incredible, and I didn't order it so you could let it get warm while you brood."
I pick up my chopsticks.
The fish melts on my tongue. She's right. It's incredible.
"Vittoria Sartori," I say between bites. "What's your middle name?"
"Maria. After my grandmother." She selects another piece. "Your turn. Favorite color."
"I don't have one."
"Everyone has one."
I consider. "Black."
