“No.”
I scowl at him. “You aren’t winning any points here.”
“I’m not trying to win points,” he replies. “But if we’re going to be trapped here together for an indefinite amount of time, it would help if you weren’t so idle.”
I roll my eyes and turn away from him, staring at the small kitchen. I turn my focus on finding something to eat, slamming cabinet doors and making a big show of not being “idle.” He doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to me, though. He’s back on his computer, which isn’t fair at all. Apparently, there’s no issue ifhehas contact with the outside world.
A knock sounds at the door not long after. One of his men enters carrying a small sack of items and sets it on the table before leaving without a word.
“These are for you,” Andrei tells me, getting up and bringing me the bag.
I peer inside to see a stack of books. Not random ones, either. Large, detailed volumes with thick pages and glossy photographs. Gilded Age architecture. Victorian Eclectic design. Historic hotels. Restoration case studies.
“What are these?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“You mentioned last night, after…” he trails off. “Anyway, you said that you want to restore an old mansion into a hotel. I thought these might help give you some ideas.”
I take them from him and set them on the counter. I open one, flipping through the pages, my fingers already itching to sketch, to plan, to lose myself in something constructive.
“I didn’t think you were listening,” I murmur.
“I always listen,” he says.
Our eyes meet and something passes between us. Maybe it’s just a mutual understanding, but it feels more like undeniable attraction. I take the books back into the bedroom, but this time I leave the door open.
There’s also a notebook and some pens in the bag, like Andrei knew I’d want to take notes. It hits me again just how thoughtful he is, and how perceptive. It’s almost unnerving.
I sink onto the bed and start going through the books, making notes of designs I find aspirational. I don’t know how long I’m there when movement catches my eye from the living room.
I look up and immediately regret it. Andrei is doing pull-ups against the exposed beam near the wall, his movements smooth and controlled. Muscles flex beneath his shirt, sweat darkening the fabric slightly. He transitions into push-ups with the same ease, breathing steady, expression focused.
Heat curls low in my stomach, unwelcome and insistent. I look back down at the page, pretending to be very invested in a photograph of a turreted roofline. It’s no use, though. My eyes keep getting drawn to him without my permission.
10
ANDREI
Alina is still in her room when my phone vibrates on the coffee table. I grab it before it has a chance to fully ring once.
“Talk,” I say.
Anderson’s voice comes through first. He’s as calm and controlled as ever.
“We’ve finished the initial sweep of your vehicles,” he says. “There were no trackers on either one, thankfully. We’ve also confirmed that the apartment’s perimeter is still intact. It’s been eighteen hours and there’s been no sign of any trouble.”
“Good,” I reply. “Who else is on the line?”
“Petya,” Anderson answers. “He’s with me.”
Petya, my lead enforcer, doesn’t waste time with greetings.
“I believe we may have an internal leak,” he says. “There’s no other explanation for the pivot. Someone on the inside is feeding your attacker information.”
I lean my free hand against the wall and close my eyes. I already expected this, but I don’t like hearing it out loud.
“They knew the timing,” Petya continues. “They knew which car you were taking. They knew where it would be staged. That information does not leave our circle unless someone opens their mouth.”
“And they wouldn’t have gotten near the car without clearance,” I say. “Alessandro and Pavel would never allow it.”
