A long, slow nod of his head. “I know you’d probably like to hear it was out of the goodness of my heart, but it wasn’t. I just didn’t want to repeat history.”
I don’t know what that means, and my lips part to ask him, but Briar comes back with our drinks, and I wait until she pours the wine, admiring how beautiful she is. Howstrongshe is, now that I know what she had to endure. Not a drop of liquid gets wasted on the table as she fills the glass perfectly halfway.
“Thank you,” I murmur, watching the curve of her lips rise higher before she leaves again.
Mikhail takes a sip of his whiskey. “So, tell me. What would you like to know?”
“Nice try, but I won’t begin until I know the terms. How much am I allowed to ask? I don’t want you leaving before I get to the serious stuff,” I say.
His brows rise. “First of all, I’m never,everletting you out of my sight in public spaces. And secondly, I haven’t decided how much of ‘everything’ I want to talk about. But the way you’re looking at me right now, all pretty and hopeful, tells me I’m about to fucking ramble with no end in sight.” He sighs.
My lips purse. “Good. I’ll start easy, then—back when you were following me around and when you ended up in that basement…was it all for the alliance with my father?”
“You know it wasn’t.” He looks straight at me as he says it. “I wanted you from the very beginning. Fuck knows my restraint was hanging by a thread by the time your father freed me.”
“Why did you fight it?” My cheeks flush.
“Because by the time I showed up at your house, I had already understood you, respected you. I wanted you to want it before I tried anything.”
“Hm. Morals. I thought they were beneath you.”
A dark, wicked smile. “They should’ve been. They are, usually.”
I take a sip of my wine, the bittersweet flavors exploding on my tongue, rich and chocolatey. It’s enough to formulate a risky question in my mind, which rolls off my tongue too easily.
“So what if I did end up wanting it? What would that mean?”
He leans in, interlacing his inked fingers on the table. His gaze darts down—not to my eyes, but to my mouth—before looking away like the thought burns him.
“It would mean my salvation, Cecilia. And it would mean your ruin.”
I swallow, my toes curling in my boots.
My skin tingles at the memory of us in that club…in thepalazzo’sbasement. Even though I knew it was wrong, it felt like a shared secret, like an alternate reality that was much better than the one upstairs.
I clear my voice, not failing to notice his delighted smile as I say, “And what if my father hadn’t freed you? What then? How could you be so sure you’d make it out alive?”
“I wasn’t,” he says. “My hope was to walk out of there with you by my side. But yes, he could’ve killed me. It was always a possibility.”
So effortless, that answer. My heart pounds a little faster in protest.
“I don’t understand. Why risk so much?”
“Some debts are too big to pay back.”
“That’s not an answer,” I say.
He leans back in his chair, peering down at the glass of whiskey. “I did some fucked up shit in the past.”
“Does this have to do with your brother?” I ask carefully, remembering the conversation with Victoria, when she hinted at some family history. “Because if yes, well…I’ve met him—I don’tthink he’d want you to die...”And neither would I.“Whatever happened between you two, I’m sure that?—”
He shakes his head.
“Nah. I…” He takes another sip, like he needs it.
Silence stretches.
“I tormented him, Cecilia.”
