I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and tuck it into the pocket of her apron. "You're doing fine. Just breathe and remember that the only person in this room who has permission to hurt you is me, and I have no intention of harming you in any way."
She nods and takes a deep breath before picking up the bottle. "Yes, sir."
"Good girl," I purr, and I see the way she stiffens at the praise. But she doesn't argue or push back, so I let it slide and return to the table where the men are waiting and sink back into my chair. It's really curious why she got so flustered, but maybe she knows a little more about what I really do for a living than I thought. She's not wrong to be intimidated by this group of men. They'd terrify me if they were my enemies.
Fyodor watches Tatiana pour herself a third shot when she thinks no one's looking. "Is she always that jumpy or is there something else going on?"
"She's new…" I say as I sit back down and pick up the crime scene photos again. "Give her time to adjust and she'll be fine."
But even as I say it, I'm not entirely convinced. There's something about the way she reacted when Lev asked about witnesses that makes me think there's more going on than just nerves about working in close quarters with me. She was fineuntil that specific question came up and then she went rigid like someone had stuck a knife in her back.
I watch her move around the room offering refills and collecting empty glasses while I try to think things through. She was working the night Volodin was executed, but I never watched her leave. I got preoccupied with other things. The pieces start falling into place, and I don't like the picture they're forming.
"Dimitri?" Vadim's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You still with us?"
"Yeah." I set the photos down and focus back on the conversation. "What were you saying?"
The meeting devolves into planning how to fortify our defenses across the casino and other nearby properties. After Yaros intercepted communications between us and an ally and nearly killed half of our men, then Vadim's near-death moment thanks to that scumbag politician, we aren't going to take chances on our home turf.
After two more hours of strategic planning and watching Tatiana get tipsy just so she can stop herself from shaking, the guys pack up and leave. We have a good plan in place, and I have to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on with Tatiana.
"Tatiana." I walk toward her, and she freezes with a glass in each hand. "Look at me."
She turns slowly and meets my eyes. It looks like she’s trying hard to stay calm but still failing. There's fear there beneath the surface, and it's not the same fear I've seen before when I've cornered her or touched her. This is different. She's not worried I'm going to come on to her again. She's terrified of something.
"Is there something you need to tell me?" I keep my voice level and neutral. If she saw something, she'll never trust me enough to tell me if she feels afraid of me too. "Something that might explain why you were so nervous tonight?"
"No," she says, and the word seems to cling to her tongue. "I told you I'm just not used to serving private meetings. That's all."
She's lying. She won't hold eye contact and her grip tightens on the glasses she's holding. But I don't push her because if I'm right about what I'm thinking, I need to handle this carefully.
"Because if you need to say something to me, I promise you I won’t be angry." I'm inwardly cursing myself for being such an aggressive ass to her at times. I come on strong to get what I want, and this time, it may have backfired.
"I'm fine," she grunts. "Tired, maybe."
"Go home." I step back and give her space to move past me. "Your shift is over, and you've done well tonight despite your nerves."
Tatiana looks up at me hesitantly and then lets her gaze drop and her eyes drift away. She sets the glasses on the bar cart and nods as she walks past me, moving much slower than she has all evening.
"Do you want a ride?" I ask, knowing if the men who did this know there's even a breath of a chance that she knows or has seen something, she won't make it home alive. I'm almost tempted to make her stay here.
"No, I'll take the bus…" She picks up her purse from beside the door, opens it, and steps out. Though for a split second, I swear Isee her hesitate on the threshold. "Goodnight," she mutters over her shoulder, and then she's gone.
I go straight to my security monitors and start switching the feeds over to watch her descent toward the staff exit. She falls apart as soon as the elevator doors close, and now I have a very strong suspicion that Tatiana has seen it all and might not live to tell about it.
What the fuck will Yuri say about this one?
8
TATIANA
Smoke rises quickly from the pan and I grab it off the burner before the smoke alarm goes off. The chicken is black on one side and nearly raw on the other and I've somehow managed to fuck up the simplest meal Dimitri could've asked for. I dump the whole thing in the trash and lean against the counter while the kitchen spins around me.
The vodka bottle is three-quarters empty now. I started drinking after I made his bed this morning and saw the guns in his nightstand drawer when I foolishly decided to snoop a little. I haven't been able to stop since.
"What's burning?" I hear booming from the living room, and Dimitri walks into the kitchen, making me straighten too fast. I know I'm drunk on the job, but he's the idiot who forced a drink into my hand the first night on the job insisting I needed to stay loose around his guests. I may just become an alcoholic because my work life is scarier than my home life—and I may have organized crime thugs following me. I've seen that car twice more over the past few days.
"Nothing. I mean, the chicken. But I threw it out." The words run together and I have to concentrate on making my mouth form them properly. "I'll make something else."
