“Yes. Of course.” He peers at me. “I-I-I’m sorry. I had a bad day and I took it out on you.”
“It’s okay.”
I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, but it’s fine. I just want this to end.
“No, it is not okay,” Kirill says.
That’s when I turn. The second his eyes catch mine, the whole world seems to draw in around us, tightening until there’s nothing left but the heat crawling up my neck and the heavy beat of my pulse. He holds the look like he’s searching for something,trying to read what I won’t say out loud, and it turns my insides into a mess.
His son, Lev, watches everything. His attention stays on the man, then his eyes lift to me, and I don’t want him to see me cry. I force a smile, hating that he has to witness any of this.
Pivoting back around, I stare toward the table, not knowing what else to do, my face growing hot under the weight of everyone watching. I can still sense Kirill behind me, and I can’t quite believe he’s actually defending me.
“Get out,” Kirill says. “And I’d better never see you here again. We understand each other?”
“O-of course. Not a problem, Mr. Marinov.” The man scrambles up so fast, his chair legs scrape the floor.
He throws cash onto the table, then hesitates when Kirill’s glare pins him in place. Something passes between them. Something I don’t understand, but still feel in my bones.
The man’s hand shakes as he digs in his wallet, fumbling three hundred-dollar bills free, and shoves them into my hand without meeting my eyes.
“For your trouble,” he says, like that makes any of this acceptable.
Then he’s gone, hurrying out the door as if the air inside this diner has suddenly turned poisonous.
CHAPTER THREE
KIRILL
The momentthat padonok escapes from the table, he nearly trips over his own feet trying to reach the door. I watch him go without moving a muscle, even though every part of me wants to drag him back by the throat and make him understand exactly what happens when someone makes her cry.
He is lucky Lev is here, or things would have been a lot worse. He should know better than to speak like that to one of my employees. But there’s no denying that she’s not just any employee. She means more to me than she realizes.
Sloane, of course, doesn’t know I own the diner. Her boss is merely a puppet who acts on my behalf. Legitimate business helps us with our cash flow. It’s important.
Lev’s small hand squeezes mine, and I immediately lower my head a little, bringing myself into his line of sight.
“Vsyo khorosho,” I tell him.Everything’s fine.
He studies my face, and I can see that he accepts what I said. He always trusts me more than I deserve.
When I lift my gaze, Sloane is still standing beside the table, trying to pull herself back together. She swipes a hand beneath one eye, pretending she’s only brushing something away instead of wiping tears that svolich put there.
“Are you all right?” My voice comes out softer, like I’m trying not to scare her.
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I’m fine. Really. And…thank you. You didn’t have to defend me.”
“Of course I did.”
The words come out rougher than I mean them to, and her eyes widen a fraction, like the idea of someone coming to her aid is foreign to her. Though it fits with the kind of life she’s had. Sorry excuse of an alcoholic father, her useless mother, and a sister, though I don’t know much about their relationship. But I suspect she was nothing great.
Sloane bites the inside of her cheek, and the longer I look at her—those big hazel eyes, the brown hair sprawled over her shoulders—the more the color creeps into her face like she can’t help it. I doubt she understands what that quiet shyness does to a man like me, how it pulls at something dark and possessive I keep locked down, especially when it comes to her.
Blyat. I’m forty-one, and she’s only twenty-three. Too young for me. Too untouched by the kind of world I live in. There’s still a softness to her, something the world hasn’t managed to strip away yet, and the thought of being the one to ruin that makes my muscles coil.
I shouldn’t look at her the way I do. I sure as hell should not be thinking about her in my bed, wrists wrapped in rope, that soft, strained voice whispering all the things she wants me to do to her.
But the thoughts come anyway. They always do. Especially at night when the house is quiet, Lev is asleep, and there’s nothing stopping me from imagining what it would be like if she was mine.
