Turns out that's illegal. Who knew?
My mouth falls open when the search bar autofills with his history underneath. How is he handing me this much unrestricted access—his laptop, his search history, his everything—when he has no proof I won't betray him?
How to make a woman overlook my occupation.Most expensive diamonds, fastest shipping.How to make her obsessed with me, the way I'm obsessed with her.
Okaaay. That's not unhinged at all. And that absolutely did not make my stomach flip. Nope. Not even a little.
I'm so busy browsing his search bar that I completely lose focus of what my sister's been saying, and by the time I tune back in, I only catch the tail end of it.
"—so anyway, I need something strong enough to repel a stalker. I'm pretty sure I found the perfect combo, but—"
"WHAT?"
"YOU WEREN'T EVEN LISTENING?"
"Inez, I was Googling illegal sand smuggling for you, forgive me for multitasking. Please, repeat the part where you said stalker."
"NO ONE IS GOING TO KNOW YOU SMUGGLED ME SOME SAND, NORA."
"I'll try!" I shout back, and somehow, in the span of about four seconds, this has fully devolved into a screaming match.
"Okay, focus—what stalker? Is someone creeping on you?" I sit up properly this time, gnawing on a thumbnail.
Please don't let this be connected to me. Please. If Slava's world is putting my sister in danger, I will end him myself, mob or no mob.
"I mean—I'm not totally sure? There's a car that keeps showing up outside at very specific hours. Someone's been restocking my fridge with groceries. And I keep waking up in underwear I don't remember putting on, while the pair I actually wore the day before just—vanish."
My heart slams against my ribs.
"Okay, you need to go to the police—" I cut myself off mid-word, because if this is somehow tied to the Bratva, that's genuinely the worst advice I could give her. Though, to be fair, I've never once heard of the mafia stalking a woman just to restock her fridge and steal her underwear.
"And tell them what, exactly?" Inez cuts in before I can finish. "Hi, officer, I have zero proof, just a feeling. Yes, someone's been in my fridge. Yes, I know groceries don't usually count as a crime. No, sir, I don't sleepwalk. What do you mean early-onset dementia? Should I be tested for that?"
I wince as she recites something she's clearly already practiced in her head a hundred times.
Who does something like this? Everything I've learned about this world in the last few days says the mafia leaves severed heads on porches, not groceries.
"I'm coming back. Today, if I can manage it," I tell her.
I am not leaving my sister alone if there's any chance she has a stalker.
"Don't you dare cut your trip short for this! I'll be fine, Nora.”
"Shut up. I'm coming back as soon as I physically can."
She launches into a full lecture about how she never should've told me anything, how I'm being dramatic, how she can handle herself—but I've stopped listening entirely.
Because Slava just walked in.
No shirt. Skin sweaty from a workout. Gray sweatpants sitting low enough on his hips that I momentarily forget my own name, my sister's name, and possibly the English language.
"I'll call you back," I mumble, and hang up before she can even respond.
Chapter Eleven
Nora
"Don't worry. Your sister is safe," he says from the doorway, arms crossed, clearly having eavesdropped on the entire call.
