"Can I get you some wine?" he asked.
"Please."
He poured two glasses from a bottle that probably cost more than my rent. We both took sips, standing on opposite sides of the island.
The silence stretched.
"So," I said finally. "Should we start cooking?"
"We should."
But neither of us moved.
"Quentin, is everything okay? You seem... different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Like something's bothering you."
Like you're looking at me differently. Like you're trying to figure something out.
"Just a lot on my mind," he said. "Work stuff."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly." He took another drink. "But I do want to ask you something."
My stomach tightened. "Okay."
"How was your weekend?"
That was not the question I expected.
"Fine. Quiet. Caught up on some reading, ran a few errands. Why?"
“I need to show you something.” He opened the laptop sitting on his kitchen island. “Stone sent these to me. Do you have any idea who that is?” He tapped on the open tab and a photo of Silvio, sitting in his car across the street from my apartment popped up.
I nearly gasped, but held it back and leaned in closer. The photo was too grainy to tell who it was without already knowing. Yay for me. There were a couple more, all showing the same person.
“I have no idea who that is. Are you saying that person’s been following me?”
“There’s one more.” He scrolled to another photo that showed Silvio in profile. There was no mistaking who it was. “Now do you recognize him?”
My breath whooshed out. There was no use denying it. “Yes.” I met Quentin’s gaze. “Remember the reason I had to leave New York?” At his nod, I motioned to the photo. “That’s it.” I shoved a hand through my hair. “I had no idea he’d followed me here, or even knew where I was.”
Quentin set his phone down. Crossed his arms. “Do you know he’s part of the Russo crime family?”
I glanced away. “I didn’t at first. Why do you think I left New York?” I met his gaze. “Look. This isn’t your problem. I’ll take care of it—”
“Why is he following you? Are you in trouble?”
Crap. This was just getting worse and worse.
“It’s complicated.”
Quentin’s brows rose. “I’ve got all night.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Wait. Have you been spying on me?”
