Maksim says something in Russian.
Lev says nothing. He retrieves a bottle of vodka from the cabinet in the corner and splashes a healthy amount into one of the glasses set out.
At least he’s not smoking.
Rather than down the drink himself, Lev hands the glass to me. Our fingers brush as the glass transfers between our hands, and my heartbeat stutters for no other reason except the light brush.
“Since when do we serve prisoners?” Maksim asks. In English so I understand each word—especially the last one.
“That was a question,” Lev states.
The same muscle in Maksim’s jaw twitches. He responds in Russian, then strides out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
I glance down at the glass. The strong smell is making my nose burn. “I’m sorry?—”
“What the fuck happened to your face?”
Not what I expected him to say first. “N-nothing.”
His eyes narrow. “Do not lie to me, Carina.”
I take a sip of straight vodka, shuddering as the alcohol burns a trail down my throat. “I met Nico Morello.” Warmth settles in my stomach and spreads. “Did anyone die?”
Lev holds my gaze, not replying right away. His expression? Lethal. For a second, I glimpse how strangers must see him—entirely understanding the silence when I mentioned his name in Salvatore’s office.
“He hit you?”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
Nico is nowhere on the list of people I care about protecting, but Lev looks murderous, like he’s considering a stop in Sicily so he can shoot the man he previously told me to marry. Abuse is unacceptable to him, yet my father was practically unfazed by the slap. I didn’t have any doubts I’d made the right decision, but this would have eradicated them if they’d existed.
“Did anyone die?” I repeat.
He answers this time. “None of my men. I don’t know about anyone else.”
I manage a nod, then quickly swallow more vodka. My family will never forgive me if Enzo was killed. They’ll probably never forgive me anyway. And I shouldn’t care; I know I shouldn’t, but I … do.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I wasn’t—I didn’t know what else to do.”
I’m expecting questions, but he says nothing. When I gather enough courage to glance up, Lev isn’t looking at me. His gaze is aimed out one of the oval windows, watching the darkness fly by as we hurtle through the sky. Toward Russia, I think?
“Lev?” I say his name like a question, searching for some clue of what’s going to happen next.
“Try to sleep,” he tells me, stepping toward the door. “No one will come in here.”
I’m humming with adrenaline and uncertainty. The only way I’ll be able to fall asleep is with aid.
So, as soon as the door shuts behind Lev, I drain the glass. I retrieve the bottle of vodka, refill, finish a second serving, and then face-plant on the bed.
The last thing I register is the roar of the engines as I drift into sweet oblivion.
YES, BOSS
We land a little before midnight. I clear the plane before opening the shut door I sat next to all flight.
Carina is fast asleep, curled in the center of the bed. I smile at the sight, then frown when I notice the near-empty bottle beside the bed and realize she helped herself to more than one glass.
I say her name, and she doesn’t even stir. I’m already working against a clock; I don’t have fucking time for this.
