Inna walked in. Ten in the evening, and she just remembered this floor existed. Last night I went down to the guest room and carried her to bed because if I hadn’t, she would have stayed asleep on that sofa until morning.
I watched her move through the room, her eyes doing their usual survey of everything before landing on the laptop. Her expression brightened as she sat beside me. “I forgot to ask, how is Hong Kong doing?” I didn’t answer. I just looked at her. Hersmile faded. “Did I steal your money?”
I scoffed. She always walks into a room, and something in it rearranges itself. Before she arrived, my focus was entirely on data, but my thoughts shifted to a completely different subject.
After giving up on waiting for my response, she leaned against my lap. She cleared her throat, shifted, and clicked her tongue. She looked uncomfortable.
“Can you lower your leg a little? It’s too high.”
I didn’t move.
She sat up, bent over my leg, and pushed it down herself until it slid to a position she found acceptable. She returned to her place and rested her head back. A satisfied smile touched her lips.
“Much better,” she said and closed her eyes. “That’s exactly how comfortable you were when you put your head on my lap.”
I looked down at her, and my jaw ticked against the smile that was making a case for itself. This girl kept you on your toes without appearing to try, which was its own specific danger I loved.
She went quiet, which was unusual enough to note. I turned back to the laptop, and my free hand found her hair. I moved through the thick strands while my other hand worked the keyboard.
“That feels nice,” she said. I pulled my hand back, but she caught it immediately and placed it back on her head. “Don’t be like that.”
I left her alone and concentrated on the laptop. The data pulled me back in, and I followed it.
After a few minutes of silence, she shifted slightly, her eyes still closed. “My hair reminds me of my mum,” she said. “She loved short hair. I cut mine when she disappeared, just to remember her. She was really beautiful.”
My hand continued caressing her hair. She was to meet her mother in New York in four days. I didn’t have the energy towalk her through that. I had already arranged with Roman, and Inna would know who her mother really is.
“By the way,” she opened her eyes. “Did you know Grandma knows we were faking? She knows Cole isn’t your son.”
“Did you think it was convincing enough?” I asked.
She scoffed. “I didn’t think so, but I played along because somehow I assumed everyone around here was just oblivious.” She went quiet for a moment. “I have so many questions. But as you said, I’ll ask my father.”
I tapped the screen, half concentrating on the columns and half waiting for whatever came next. With Inna, there was always something next. She talked the way other people breathed. The silence between her thoughts was never long enough to mean she was done.
“Is there something else you do besides running DK Holdings?”
My hand paused on the screen for a beat before I looked down at her. “Why? Planning to steal from me again?”
“I didn’t steal. I took that money because…” She stopped. “Why am I even explaining myself? Also, why would I steal when I have a card with no limit? You said it’s unlimited, right?”
The card she only used at the pharmacy and the phone store? She talked about spending like someone who intended to, but then didn’t.
“You never answer questions the way they’re asked, do you?” she asked.
“What question?”
“What else do you do?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think we don’t have enough money?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. I think there’s something else entirely. You got shot, and you didn’t involve the police. Everyone around you has this specific energy I wouldn’t even call “respect.” It’s fear. They’re afraid of you. And you threatenedTorres that if he didn’t pay, you’d take the building. Normal people take that to court.”
She looked at me as if presenting evidence. “If you tell me you run a dangerous illegal business, I would agree immediately.” She bit her lower lip, thinking. “Money laundering? No, you’d be in prison by now. Florida isn’t lenient, and your family is friends with the governor.” She sat up abruptly and reached for her phone on the cushion. “How do you even spell Konstantinov?” She was already typing. “Your family has a legacy, a history in Russia. I can feel it.”
She lay back across my lap and kept scrolling. “There are several Konstantinov families here. What was your father’s name? Or your grandfather? Or—”
I took the phone.
