Page 25 of The Russian's Bought Bride

“That’s vague.”

“Intentionally.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, picking at the parts I’m not saying out loud. “You’re involved in this kind of thing, aren’t you?”

“I know about people like them,” I reply, keeping my tone level. “But more importantly, I’m involved in stopping them.”

It isn’t a lie, but not the whole truth either.

She studies me again, longer this time, like she’s trying to decide where I stand in all of this…threat, ally, or maybe something in between. She’s trying to be careful after being burned already. Smart.

“I believe you,” she says finally.

Regardless of how that catches me off guard, I don’t show it as I keep my expression perfectly schooled. “Not that I’m complaining, but why?”

“If you were part of it, you wouldn’t have me in your home, or tell me anything about it,” she says flatly. “You’d still be there…or I’d be dead.”

I shrug slightly, seeing the logic in her assumptions. “Something like that.”

“Did you know?” she asks, her voice quieter again. “Before it happened?”

My stomach clenches at the question, sensing that this one could break the delicate peace we’ve formed. Still, I hold her gaze and force myself to tell the truth. “Yes.”

Danielle’s expression shifts with pain and anger, but she contains it long enough to keep from losing it on me. “Then why didn’t you stop it sooner?”

I don’t feel any blame or accusation in it, but hurt instead, and that’s worse somehow. Still, I refuse to look away.

“Because I needed proof,” I murmur, sliding my hands into my pockets. “I needed enough to take all of them down, not just one location, and I had it.”

Her lips press together, able to see the picture for herself. “And my dad was part of that waiting game,” she mumbles with a slow exhale before she adds, “I get it. I don’t like it at all, but I get it.”

That’s more understanding than I expected, and surely more than I deserve.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even while the words feel insufficient. That has never been my strong suit.

Instead of responding right away, she just sits there and looks at the floor with distance in her stare. Then, she faces me with the kind of conviction in her features that seems unnaturally hard for someone like her.

“I want them to pay,” she tells me, words direct and not leaving any room for misunderstanding. “I want whoever did this to my dad to face something for it.”

Watching her again, I see how her anger seems focused in a direction that makes sense, as if this is something she can put her mind to, even without being involved.

“I’m working on it.”

She looks at me with that same wariness from before. “You mean that?”

“I do.”

“Good,” she says quietly, settling back in her spot while she allows more silence to linger between us again. This time, it feels less hostile and more open, like something shared.

“I still want to leave,” Danielle says after a moment, seemingly expecting me to argue. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“I know.”

She crosses her arms loosely over her chest, then reluctantly admits, “But I don’t feel safe going out there yet. I don’t know who’s involved, or if anyone would come after me. Or if I’d just…disappear like he did. I don’t want to risk that.”

“You won’t,” I say immediately, far too certain.

“How do you know?”