I didn't answer. Just threw back the whiskey, felt it burn down my throat straight to my stomach.
"Seriously though, congratulations, Silas." Pavel drained his glass too. "Finding your lost love. Even if that sounds like some soap opera bullshit."
"Congratulations my ass." I poured another, bitterness rising. "She can't wait to get as far from me as possible."
"Still better than thinking she's dead." Pavel shrugged, poured himself vodka, and clinked my glass. "At least she's alive. You've got a shot."
I drank in silence. He watched me for a while, then sighed.
"But seriously, man..." He lowered his voice, unusually serious. "Take it easy. Don't scare her."
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" He pointed at my crotch, completely shameless. "You've been celibate for six fucking years! Ever since Anthea 'died,' you turned into a monk. Now she's standing right in front of you—you think you can stop yourself from devouring her?"
I didn't argue. The alcohol was spreading through my bloodstream. The desire I'd kept locked down with reason was fighting back under Pavel's crude but accurate questioning. Two thousand nights of bone-deep emptiness and hunger—no one could understand.
"Silas, I know exactly what kind of hell you've been living. Wearingher ashes around your neck in a necklace—even though they were fake. Harsh truth? You're not quite right anymore." Pavel's face was serious.
My expression shifted. Pavel was right. Today at the restaurant, when I'd grabbed Anthea's ankle, that jolt of electricity had almost made me lose it right there. I'd wanted more. Wanted to rip off that damn uniform, bend her over the table, push inside her, hear her cry and beg beneath me like six years ago.
But I'd held back. For her to love me again.
"I'm not rushing." I didn't know who the hell I was trying to convince. "I'll make her love me again."
Pavel looked at me. Finally nodded.
"Hope so." He raised his glass, drained it. "Meeting you—don't know if that's her luck or her curse."
I didn't respond. Pavel drank with me in silence.
"By the way, heard that psycho Vanessa escaped?" Pavel asked suddenly, tone heavy. "Any leads? Someone who can snatch her right under your nose isn't amateur hour. Think it's that old bastard Tomaso? We've hit him so many times and never touched his core."
Business talk cleared my head instantly.
"That old fox always has a backup plan. Slippery as hell." I narrowed my eyes, killer intent flashing. "If he's involved, his luck's run out this time. Marcus is already digging. We'll root out whoever helped from the inside soon enough."
"A mole?" Pavel frowned. "They've got long reach. How you planning to handle the interrogation? Need help?"
"No. I'll pull out every nail they hammered into my organization. One by one." My voice was ice.
Pavel nodded. Didn't push.
Glass after glass went down. Something hot and restless inside me couldn't be contained anymore. I yanked at my tie—the constraint was suffocating. My mind filled with Anthea at that dinner table. Her ankle so delicate, skin so soft, squirming in my palm. Her cheeks flushed, eyes angry and embarrassed, but she couldn't make a scene in front of Olei.
Damn it. Heat flooded my lower body.
"You've got the look of a starving wolf right now." Pavel caught my state. Overstated it.
"I'm leaving." I stood, cold smile forming, and grabbed my coat. "Business."
Didn't wait for Pavel's response. I turned and strode out.
An hour later,I stood outside Anthea's apartment. The door opened silently. I walked in.
The apartment was dark except for cold moonlight. She should be asleep by now. I slipped into the bedroom quietly, pulled out a bottle from my pocket—sleep-aid incense the doctor prescribed. Mild, harmless. Just made people sleep more deeply.
I lit the incense and set it on the nightstand. A faint fragrance spread through the air. Then I waited in the darkness.
