“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“I assumed you were, or I’d have gotten a very different phone call.” His voice is unaffected and businesslike. “What happened?”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose and give him the basic details, carefully leaving out Dinara’s presence. Although I havea feeling whoever squealed to my father wouldn’t have left out that detail. “And how exactly did you find out about this so fast? I haven’t even washed the blood off my shoes.”
“I have ears everywhere, Kirill. You know that. I’m more concerned about the company you were keeping. I’m told you were with a woman. The one I specifically told you to cut loose.”
“What I do on my own time isn’t your concern.”
“Everything you do is my concern. The Ghost is lying in wait and you’re wasting it on some waitress instead of the task at hand.” His voice hardens. “Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve put into salvaging the Morozov relationship after you embarrassed their daughter?”
I drain the rest of my whiskey, letting the burn settle in my chest before responding. “I don’t have the energy to get into this right now.”
A beat of silence. “Find the Ghost, Kirill. That’s all that matters now. And if you fail, the Morozov arrangement stands.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye.
I lower the phone, my father’s words settling like stones in my gut.
With all my father’s spies, he doesn’t know Dinara’s true identity, or the fact that I married her … yet. But he will find out soon enough, one way or another.
That’s a problem for after I beat the Ghost. If I succeed, I have leverage. I can reveal the marriage from a position of strength, present it as a fait accompli that benefits the family. Dinara’s skills and connections are worth more than any shipping route Morozov can offer.
If I fail…
I pour another whiskey and let the thought die there. Failure isn’t an option.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
DINARA
I waketo cold sheets and an empty bed. The room is dark except for the glow of the city filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I reach across the mattress, finding only the impression where Kirill’s body was, the lingering warmth already fading.
We collapsed into bed hours ago, exhausted. He’d held me close enough that I could barely breathe, like he was trying to convince himself I was real, that I was alive. I fell asleep listening to his heartbeat, feeling safe despite everything that happened.
I slip out of bed, pulling on one of his T-shirts that falls to mid-thigh. The penthouse is silent as I pad barefoot down the hallway, following the instinct that tells me exactly where he’ll be.
A slash of light guides me toward the main living area, but I stop when I reach the archway.
Kirill is sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, a glass of whiskey cradled between his palms, his head bowed. He’s shirtless, revealing the hard planes of muscle and the dark ink of his tattoos. Something about the coiled tension in everyline of his body reminds me of a predator forced into a cage, barely restraining the violence simmering just beneath his skin.
That should send me running, but it doesn’t.
His eyes stay fixed on the ground as I approach. Only when I’m standing right in front of him, impossible to ignore, does he finally look up. His eyes are hooded and dark. There’s something feral in them.
“Go back to the room.”
The dismissal stings but I know he’s in pain. It’s there in every tense line of his body, the guilt of putting people he cares for in the crossfire. But I refuse to leave him like this, raw and hurting and alone.
“No.”
He takes a slow sip of whiskey, never breaking eye contact. “I’m not in a good place right now. If you stay here, I’m going to use your body hard. So do yourself a favor and walk away.”
We hold each other’s gaze, neither one blinking, and something shifts in his expression. Interest flickers behind the darkness. He wants to see what I’ll do, if I’ll actually be stupid enough to stay.
I reach for the hem of his T-shirt and expose my midriff, letting the cool air chase the heat off my skin. His eyes go nearly black, darker than I’ve ever seen them, and the muscle in his jaw ticks hard enough to make my own pulse jump.
