“Jesus.”My eyes widen. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
His gaze hardens. “It means you’d be dead already, if that’s what I wanted.”
More tears spill over, tracking down my cheeks. “Great. I guess I owe you my life now.”
I’ve never been the crying type. It’s humiliating, stripping myself of every ounce of pride, offering up absolute submission just to survive.
But I can’t help it. The terror of being in this place is like a physical weight crushing my chest, and the shame of my own helplessness burns.
He doesn’t move.
He just stands there, watching me unravel into a pure mess. His jaw tightens, a hard line etched into stone, but there’s unreadable flicker in the dark depths of his eyes—a brief, turbulent shadow that passes before it’s locked away.
And then it hits me, the same way the cold gusts of wind battered me on the docks.
It’s a sudden, sickening jolt right beneath my ribs. Even as my heart hammers in pure panic, even as my mind screams at me that this man is dangerous, I feel a strange, magnetic pull toward him. Like an irrational anchor in the middle of my trauma, an inexplicable gravity draws me to the very person holding my life in his hands.
That realization frightens me more than anything else. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.
How can I crave anything from the person who put me in this prison?
He takes a slow step back, the shadows of the room swallowing him up, but his gaze never leaves mine.
I realize he’s leaving, and the first thought that escapes is, “You never told me your name.”
“Persistent,” he grumbles. Then, with a sigh, it comes. “Leonid.”
Then he turns and walks out, the heavy metal door clicking shut behind him.
Chapter Four
Leonid
Standing in the hallway outside the basement room, I glance at the door where Elena’s locked up and let my thoughts go on a rampage.
Her sea green eyes flash in my head. They were innocent, fear bleeding right into them when I questioned her, even though she did her best to appear brave.
But being in this line of work means I can read anyone’s bravery and cowardice. And though she was clearly scared of me, I can tell Elena is no coward.
Then who is she?
And why is she here?
There are only two possibilities given the way she responded to my questions. Either she’s working with one of my enemies to sabotage me, and whoever sent her did a good job at training her to appear innocent.
Or she’s truly innocent.
But there’s one more possibility burning in my mind, even though I’d like to do nothing but ignore it.
And that’s the fact that whether she’s guilty or innocent isn’t important, and maybe I’m just looking for reasons to keep her alive.
Surviving in the mafia means distrusting everyone. In our world, everyone is an enemy until proven otherwise.
Even then, trusting someone too much could mean getting a bullet or two buried in your skull while you’re asleep.
I’ve never been one to trust. Never been one to give anyone the benefit of doubt. But somehow, this woman is already making me break one of my rules.
My fists clench, the dark part of me that’s brought me this far making me question my choices. Maybe I should turnaround, burst into the room, and wrap my hands around her neck until she’s nothing but a corpse.
