"I'm glad to see you have an appetite," he says, watching me butter the toast with steady hands.
I take a bite instead of responding. The food is delicious, and I'm hungrier than I realized. I haven't eaten since lunch the day before yesterday, before everything went to hell.
"The clothes are comfortable?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Good. I can have more sent up if you need them."
I look up at him, confused by the pleasantries.
"What's your name?" I ask suddenly.
He raises an eyebrow. "You don't know?"
"How would I know? You kidnapped me, interrogated me, and locked me in a room. You never introduced yourself."
"Fair point." He leans back in his chair, studying me. "Andrey Melnikov."
The name hits me like a punch to the gut. Melnikov. I know that name. Everyone in the Bratva knows that name. The Melnikov family is powerful and influential with connections that stretch across continents.
And I just had sex with their Pakhan.
"I see you recognize my name," Andrey says, something dark flickering in his eyes.
"Everyone recognizes it," I manage to say.
"Then you understand the position you're in." He picks up his coffee cup, taking a slow sip. "This is Matvey, my sovietnik."
The Beast nods once, acknowledging the introduction, but doesn't speak.
"Now that we've been properly introduced," Andrey continues, setting down his cup, "let's talk about your father."
And just like that, the civilized breakfast is over.
"I've already told you everything I know," I say, my appetite disappearing. "I don't know where he is."
"I don't believe you."
"I don't care what you believe. It's the truth."
His jaw tightens. "Your father is a traitor. He testified against the Bratva, then disappeared. But before he disappeared, he stole something from my family. Something very valuable."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Family heirlooms," he continues, as if I haven't spoken. "Icons that have been passed down through generations. Worth a fortune, both financially and sentimentally. They disappeared around the same time your father did."
I shake my head. "I don't know anything about any icons. My father never mentioned them."
"Then where is he?" Andrey leans forward, his blue eyes boring into mine. "Where has he been hiding all this time?"
"I don't know!" The words come out sharper than I intend, edged with frustration and fear. "He sent me to America the day he testified. I haven't seen him or heard from him since. For all I know, he's dead."
"He's not dead." Andrey's voice is flat, certain. "If he were dead, someone would have found the body by now. No, he's alive and hiding somewhere, and you're going to tell me where."
"I can't tell you what I don't know."
We stare at each other across the table, the tension thick enough to cut. Matvey shifts slightly, drawing my attention. His hand rests on something at his hip. A weapon, probably. A reminder of what could happen if I don't cooperate.
