Page 33 of Ruined By Sin

We talk for a few more minutes about logistics, timelines, the number of men he'll need, and where to pull them from without leaving our other operations exposed. It's the kind of conversation I've had too many times in my life. The cold arithmetic of planning a murder. And every time I have this conversation, I feel a piece of myself go numb. I wasn't raised to be a killing machine, but that's what this life has made me at times.

When we're finished, Betya walks me out and I climb in my car feeling less enthusiastic than I did when I arrived. His news took the wind out of my sails, and it takes me the entire drive home to shake the nagging feeling I can't quite pin down.

Morin has never given me bad intel before. Not once in twenty years. He's meticulous, almost obsessive about the quality of his work, which is why the rough footage bothers me. It doesn't match the standard he holds himself to. But I'm probably overthinking this because I'm tired and stretched thin and looking for problems where there aren't any. I have to let him deal with this and focus on keeping my tasks caught up so Roman doesn't have another reason to be pissed.

I let it go by the time I pull into my driveway. When I walk through the front door, Kira is pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. She stops when she sees me and turns, and I can tell immediately that something is on her mind.

"Hey," I say, setting my keys on the stand. "You alright?"

"I'd like to talk to you about something." She steps forward, picking at her fingernails. She looks worried, or maybe scared, and I immediately want to fix that problem for her.

"Okay." I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the hook by the door. "Can it wait an hour? I'd like to take you to dinner."

She cocks her head, acting confused. "Dinner?" Her tongue draws over her bottom lip and then she bites it, looking like whatever is going through her head is causing her a great deal of internal conflict.

"Out. Just the two of us. There's a place I think you'd like." I take her hands and clasp them in mine. I could really use a goodevening with her, and we can talk as much as she wants over dinner. Maybe she's going to ask to go home again, and maybe this time, she'll give me a straight answer about being a part of my life after all of this is over.

"Out as in outside this house?"

"That's generally what out means," I say, chuckling.

She unfolds her arms and stares at me for a few seconds, pulling back from me. I can see the conflict working through her, the thing she wanted to talk about competing with the thing I just offered.

Almost four weeks she's been inside these walls, but I can see how much she wants something different. "I mean, I don't have anything to wear to a restaurant," she says, which isn't a no. It makes my eager heart all the more hungry for her attention. And the weight on her shoulders is slowly lifting, taking her worries with it.

"Well, I can have Sonya bring you a dress... Maybe something pretty in blue?"

Kira's eyes bat and her lips curl into a smile. "You really want to take me out?"

I take her hand again, pulling her toward me, then press a kiss to her knuckles. "You aren't a prisoner, Kira. You're my guest. I told you that a long time ago. And it's time I took you out on this town to show the world how intoxicatingly beautiful you are. Would you join me?" I dip my head to bow from the shoulders as she beams.

"Yes..." She pauses and sighs. "But we can talk over dinner?"

"About anything you wish... Go shower. I'll get Sonya to bring you something nice."

I watch her saunter off, catching every sway of her hips and the way she smiles over her shoulder as she ducks into her bedroom, and my body feels supercharged. Whatever it is she's going to talk to me about, I can handle it.

If she asks to go home, maybe—just maybe—I'll take her there myself tonight. Without even telling my brother who she is. Sergei will have to get fucked if he thinks he can come after us for his stupid mistake. It was his fault he sent her to Mirov territory. He should never have run a secret op without telling us.

Now Kira is mine. And with a smile like that after a dinner invitation, imagine how she'll feel when she learns I want to keep her around permanently, maybe as my wife.

16

KIRA

The restaurant is nice, though I thought we'd be sitting amongst a crowd. But this private dining room is nice too. There are no nosy waiters or hovering guards to interrupt us. I stick the last bite of my fish into my mouth and chew, savoring the flavors that melt on my tongue as Timur continues his story.

"So when we came slogging back into the house, half drowned and soaking wet, my father beat the tar out of us." He's chuckling, grinning from ear to ear after telling me how he and Roman almost drowned as children by skating on thin ice—literally. "We got grounded for almost dying."

"Oh, my gosh." I smile at him, but it's more because of his sparkling eyes and free spirit. He's different tonight, looser somehow, like he enjoys the freedom of having dinner with me alone. I think I like it too, though the nagging guilt over not having brought up what Victor requested from me yet still chews at my conscience.

"So, were you a troublemaker as a child too?" he asks, and he cuts a bite of his steak, which he's hardly touched because he's been so enamored of telling childhood stories.

I have to think about it for a second because there are very few stories I can actually remember. Childhood wasn't so easy for me, moving a lot, running from very bad people as my uncle and father ran their business. But the good moments shine through.

"I suppose I got in trouble for staying up too late reading at times, or drawing." I think my story pales in comparison to his, but it's all I have, because I can't very well tell stories that may identify my real nature. "Or there was the one time we washed the dog in the kitchen sink next to the thawing chicken. Mum was horrified." I snicker at that one, thinking how she had spent the rest of the afternoon rinsing that damn bird to make it edible again.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you were a Goody Two-Shoes." Timur winks and has another bite, chewing thoughtfully as I try not to turn inward and think about my problem.