I looked at her hand around the bottle. “I have already done that.”
Her mouth closed.
“I took you out of that room,” I said. “You didn’t ask me. You didn’t know my name. You didn’t know where I would bring you. I won’t make that sound cleaner than it was.”
“Then why?”
“Because Gennady Kask had won you.”
Her throat moved.
The SUV turned into the private drive beneath my building. Security gates opened in front of us, black bars sliding away from the headlights.
Nadia looked at the gate, then the concrete walls, then the guard booth with two men in dark coats.
Her face changed.
Not softer. Not calmer.
More awake.
“No,” she said.
The water bottle crinkled under her fingers.
I opened my hand on the seat between us. “Listen to me.”
“I’ve been listening to men all night.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t know.” Her voice scraped. “You came in after the bidding like an earthquake in a suit, and everyone moved because they were afraid of you. I don’t know what that makes you, but I know what men do when whole rooms are afraid of them.”
The car stopped beside the private elevator.
The driver killed the engine.
For one second, there was no sound except Nadia’s breathing and the faint rush of fans in the garage.
I could have told her my name then. My father’s name. The shape of the Sorin family around half this city. I could have explained why men moved, why Gennady had not drawn a weapon, why the auctioneer had gone white when I stepped onto the floor.
None of it would have helped her.
“I am Vadim Sorin,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. Recognition hit, not full understanding. A name heard in rooms where waitresses lowered their voices and men paid in cash. A name Petya would know enough to fear.
“Sorin,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. It is supposed to tell you who has you.”
She flinched at that.
I hated myself for the word and didn’t take it back. She would smell lies faster than comfort.
