“You must’ve done something to really piss off your brothers,” Ivan says, shifting his weight onto one leg. “Those men were determined to get you back.”
At that, my brows furrow. “My brothers…I never mentioned them.”
He pauses, eyes not leaving me as a long beat of silence settles in the room, far too obvious to ignore. Then, he tilts his head. “Didn’t you?”
“No,” I murmur, voice dropping quieter as a newfound dread settles in my gut. “I didn’t. So how did you know?”
“I know a lot of things.”
The words aren’t even close to comforting as I stare at him, feeling as I withdraw further into myself as a chill grips my spine.
Seemingly realizing some kind of error, Ivan sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose and sits in the armchair across from me, removing that built-in intimidation from his stance. “I know you sing at local lounges on Friday nights.”
I blink back at him as it sinks in. “What?”
“The crowds are small, and you usually start around nine,” he continues, never pulling his gaze from mine.
Everything he says adds to the rock forming in my stomach, and my heart slams against my ribs over and over at the implication.
He has me completely still, studying his face and trying to read what he’s not saying. Even if he has been rather openand forthcoming with me, there’s something else wrapped up beneath his calm exterior.
The fact that he knows about my performances is enough to make me question everything that led me to this moment.
“Who are you?” I ask, unable to shake the dread and panic starting to crawl around inside me.
As if he knows there’s no backing out of it now, he leans forward just enough to brace his forearms on his thighs, and his eyes keep me pinned.
“Ivan Lukov.”
Lukov.
It was a name that didn’t mean anything to me before, but it resurfaces again, taking me back to the restaurant with Cesare.
He had said it with such disgust and disdain, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a touch of fear. The Lukovs were a problem, apparently.
My brothers don’t fear just anyone, and that fact alone makes my stomach drop.
As I stare at Ivan, partially aware of who he is and what that means for my brothers, every piece clicks into place.
Whether he saved me from that potential engagement or not, enemy or not, this man isn’t a savior. He isn’t my ticket out of an unsavory situation.
I willingly walked through the front door and traded one prison for another.
Chapter 5 - Ivan
I’ve always considered myself fortunate, though not necessarily lucky. But if this isn’t luck, then I don’t know what is.
Mila is here, in my condo, under my roof, just like she was always meant to be.
The reality of it hits me again and again, each time an even bigger wave than the last.
I’ve surveilled men before. I’ve tracked families, monitored enemies, and studied them until I knew the rhythm of their everyday lives even better than they did. It’s a necessary part of the job, to the point where it almost becomes clinical.
But this luck is so obscene that it’s more like divine intervention than anything else. And that’s a bold statement coming from me.
Not only is Mila here, alive and safe, but she always crossed my path on her own accord. She ran right by me like some part of her knew I’d step in.
Wyatt is going to lose it when I tell him, for better or worse.
