Page 52 of The Viper's Wife

I lean back in my chair, and his hand wraps around my shoulder. I pretend not to notice. “I love that I get to learn something new every day. I love that I don’t have to work with the general public anymore. Someone at work even brings their dog to visit on coffee breaks. And I like that I’m doing my part.”

“Your part of what?”

I glance at him and look away. “You don’t care.”

“I do.”

I ignore the squeezing in my chest at his words. He just wants to have sex again. Better I spit it out, and then we can move on to something more important. “My part in making up for the things my family has done. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to be a part of all this.”

He rubs his thumb across my neck. “But you are.”

I look out across the river, wishing I could fly as far away as I wanted, without limitations. “I am.”

Nico dropsme off in front of my house after a long afternoon at the café. Time seemed to fly by while we weretogether—a dangerous concept. I need to go to my room and blast heavy metal or a scary movie so I can push all the warm thoughts about Nico off a cliff.

“You know, gas is pretty expensive these days,” Nico says.

Or maybe I can let him talk and ruin my feelings for him all on his own.

I’m not sure who he pissed off to get his Ferrari swapped for an old Prius, but the less I know about Nico’s personal life, the better.

I sigh and reach for my purse.

Nico catches my elbow. “I don’t want that. Let’s go on another date.”

“This wasn’t a date.”

“A business meeting then. Strictly platonic. I’ll text you.”

I didn’t even realize he had my number, but choose not to question it. I open the car door and step out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the company.”

I shut the car door and walk away before I say something stupid. I can practically feel his gaze burning against my back as I move up my driveway.

He asked me what my favorite wine was (merlot, but I’d rather have a piña colada). My favorite movies—every scary, gory movie I listed only made his smile grow brighter.

When I went to the bathroom, I saw they didn’t have BLTs on the café menu. Even now, the thought makes my chest ache.

We cannotgo on another date.

Once I open the front door, Nico drives off.

There’s been a robbery.

Stefano looks up from the middle of a pile of wreckage that used to be our living room.

“Val,” he says in a weak voice. His eyes are red-rimmed.

All of the paintings Dad’s collected over the years have been ripped down from the walls and broken. Mom’s vases, shattered. The coffee table was thrown into the wall. It looks like Stefano sat on the couch while a tornado ripped around him.

“What happened?” I drop my purse to the ground. My bedroom—my money. I can’t run and check, not with Stefano here. I dig my toes into the bottom of my shoes to keep from sprinting into my room.

“The Russians,” Stefano says. “Val, they took Dad.”

Like a flash-bang’s gone off, I blink and try to process what he’s just told me.

“The Russians? How do you?—”