Page 6 of Grave Secrets

“Mhmm,” I say, waving him out of the door. When he shuts the door as he walks out, I grab my tablet and pen before going around to sit on the loveseat across from Viktor.

“You are free to continue being late, if you want,” Viktor says with a smirk.

“Eh, I think it looks better for me if I am on time,” I laugh. I slip my flats off before sitting on the couch cross-legged. I don’t have to put so much pressure on my ass this way, making the stabbing feeling in my cervix not hurt so badly. “Tell me a bit about yourself, Viktor,” I say as I navigate to my notepad to scribble out some notes.

“Why don’t you tell me what you know?” he asks.

I sit back to look at him, and he looks calm. Reserved, but calm. “I know you were charged with attempted murder, but it was reduced to assault,” I say.

“I meant with you saying you know what I do,” he replies.

“What you do outside of here is only important to me if it affects your progress with me,” I say.

“That’s not true, or you wouldn’t have asked for Andre to be here,” he quips, but he’s right. “If I am to be expected to open up, I have to know I can trust you, right?”

“Right,” I say, carefully watching my words. I can’t tell if this is a test or if he actually wants to know if he can trust me. “I know you are an arms dealer. You own a handful of clubs. Andre tells me that you are safe for me to be around because you don’t hurt women. You chose that chair because you are trying to keep control of the situation. You are afraid to slip up and look human. You have a tough exterior, but underneath the mafia boss armor, there is a man who is lacking something, and he fills that void by hurting others.”

“You are defensive,” he says with a smirk.

Fuck. He is far too observant.

“I think cornering me into giving you the answers to things you should be telling me is a rightful reason to be on guard,” I say, but I definitely shouldn’t have said it that way.

“You are afraid of me,” he says with a smile.

“I am not afraid of you, Mr. Holt,” I chuckle.

“Vik or Viktor,” he corrects.

“Tell me about the incident that got you here,” I say. His eyes travel down my body, greedily looking at me. “Looking at my tits isn’t going to get you out of the question, Vik,” I say. His eyes meet mine, and he smirks.

“Well,” he says. “I took his head and smashed it against a brick wall until he went limp. I assumed he was dead, but cockroaches are hard to kill.”

“So you were intending to kill him?” I ask as I scribble myself a note on the pad.

“What was that? What did you write down?” he asks.

“That the incident was thought out,” I say.

“Which means?”

“If you thought it through, that it wasn’t you losing your temper; you are just that violent,” I say honestly. “Did he deserve it?”

“I think he did.”

“But some might not think he did?” I ask.

“Obviously, considering I was charged.”

“What did he do?” I ask.

“He beat his wife so badly that she is in a coma, and she may never wake up, with their six-year-old son sitting beside her,” he says. “He came into my club bragging about how he was going to get her life insurance money when she died, so I beat his face in just like he did to his wife.”

Why is this red flag so fucking hot?

“Why not go to the cops and get her justice that way?” I ask.

“Why not sell the gun instead of handing it off to the mafia?” he quips. “Because handling it myself means he got what he deserved, and her soul could rest easier knowing he got what he deserved.”