Kira deflates with every word. And by the time I’m done, she looks heartbroken.
“But,” I say meaningfully, tugging her hand to make sure she’s listening. “I do think she actually loves you. And I think her being honest with you is a big step in the right direction. Everyone grows up and gets over themselves and their issues eventually, and it looks like she’s changing into someone better for you.”
And that puts the stars right back into her eyes.
“That being said, if she ever hurts you, tell her I’ll beat the shit out of her,” I joke, smirking to let her know I’m not serious.
Well, nottotallyserious, but…kinda serious.
She laughs anyway, an ecstatic, excited giggle, and launches into a long, long,longspeech about every moment she’s ever spent with Janessa and every thought she’s ever had about her and every conversation they’ve ever had and–
And holy fuck, I think Kira is creepily into Janessa, too. They’re perfect for each other.
Not that I’m one to talk. I shift my weight, the soreness reminding me of Young-gi. The ever-present ache keeps part of my attention on him constantly, like he’s haunting me. Without even being here, he dominates my thoughts. I wonder where he is, I wonder what he’s doing, who he’s with.
He said he had business, bratva business, and that his presence at dinner wouldn’t be necessary for our cover story. I’m not one to beg, so I let him do what he wanted and got in the limo to dinner without him. But I wish he was here.
Ugh.Since when am I this needy? Since when am I hung up on someone? A simmering resentment, a slowly bubblingannoyance, is building within me. Not at Young-gi, although partly at him, sure, but mostly at myself. Because is this who I really am now? Like, okay, maybe I’m becoming some shiny new Tommy, but do I really have to be likethis?Someone who needs and needs andneedsall the time?
Do I really have to be someone who actually needs all that Daddy bullshit? Because it’s becoming clear to me that his Daddy energy is the secret sauce.
The chandelier above catches the lights and glitters, strains of music and the swelling sound of more people talking surrounds me, pulling me back into the present. My ass hurts. My ring finger feels heavy. Young-gi isn’t here and I don’t think I like that.
And I’m getting angry because–because…because why am I sitting here, thinking to myself that I wish he was here? I don’t need him, I don’t need anyone. That’s so annoying, so frustrating. So stupid.
“Ouch!” Kira’s little voice brings me back to myself. I loosen my fingers on hers immediately.
“I’m sorry, sorry,” I pull my hand away. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“It’s okay,” Kira forgives too easily. “Are you alright? I know I’ve been talking about myself all evening. How are you holding up with my uncle? Are you–”
“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” I say suddenly, standing up. I don’t want to talk about me, and definitely not about her uncle. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
As an afterthought, I lean down and kiss her cheek, because I’m supposed to be playing a part, dammit. I’m here for a job. I’m not here to get distracted by Young-gi and the way he makes me feel. It won’t last. Nothing ever does. Even if he’s a little curious, wants to do some experimenting with me, it won’t be permanent.
Storming into the bathroom, I check the stalls to make sure they’re empty, then lean heavily against one of the sinks with a sigh.
“What’s your problem?” I ask myself, fidgeting with my hands, twisting the ring on my finger. “Just get it together, Tommy.”
Tommy Sokolov.
I shiver. That’s not real, just a throwaway comment he made to tell off his bratva underlings. He didn’t mean it.
But…what if…
The bathroom door opens and I quickly start washing my hands, hoping I don’t look like a psychopath on the edge of a mental breakdown. But instead of coming inside, the man–dressed as a waiter–tosses a manila folder at me before disappearing back into the restaurant. It hits the floor a few feet from me with a loud thwack.
The door swings shut, and I’m alone again in the dimly lit room.
Huh?
I stare at the envelope, surprised. This is so unlike the violence I’m used to that it takes me a second to realize that this unexpected delivery is probably a threat.
And as soon as I realize that, the folder–that unassuming manila envelope–might as well be a snake between me and the exit. Unavoidable. Dangerous.
Lethal.
With a scowl, I snatch it up and tear it open. I’ll rip this fucking snake’s head off. With my fucking teeth if I have to.
