Page 55 of The Stalking King

“Drink?” he asks. “Something to eat?”

“I’ll take a coffee,” I reply.

“Sure.”

I go to the window, crossing my arms over myself. The city sparkles below us, beyond his private balcony.

He carries the cups through and nods to the table. I go to the table, take mine, but remain standing. He folds his hands over his stomach, looking up at me from his chair.

“I’m the leader of the DC Bratva,” he tells me.

“The what?” I ask.

“It’s the Russian mafia.”

I put my coffee down, my hand shaking, before I drop it. My chest is tight, the same feeling I got when he brushed the hair from my face or kissed me or tied my hands with my own bra. But now something different grips me.

“You’re a mob boss.”

He nods. “In a manner of speaking.”

“What does that mean?” I hiss.

“It means that I’m a different kind of mob boss from the usual, in New York or LA or Vegas and all the rest of them. We deal in information⁠—”

“And in blood,” I snap. “We’re both capable of watching the news.”

He pauses, fixing me with those gray eyes. They’re not cold, not for me. I don’t think they ever will be again. This is a pivotal moment. If he lies or deflects, I know there’s no chance.

What chance did we have anyway? He watched me, used me, lied to me.

“And, where necessary, in blood,” he says, nodding. “But I didn’t harm that young man. He was a civilian. I don’t hurt civilians. And I don’t hurt people unless they deserve it.”

I drop onto the couch, my legs suddenly feeling light. “When did you last hurt someone, then? Let’s start there. Is this something you’ve done in the past, or something you do, present tense?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “This morning, just after I left you.”

My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “You killed someone this morning, and you’re just sitting there like it’s no big deal?”

“I didn’t kill him,” he grunts. “I smacked him around. He works for Conrad Vale, the man who was behind the theft – and most likely behind Daniel’s murder. I was questioning him to see if he knew where Daniel was. Clearly, he didn’t.”

“So, the man’s alive?”

“No, there were other circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” I demand.

He grinds his teeth. “Your name means light, Lia. You’ve had your struggles, you’ve had your tests, but you don’t know how evil the world can truly be. You don’t know the depths people are capable of plunging to. There are evils in this world I don’t want to inflict upon you. I don’t even want you to have to think about them.”

“That’s too bad,” I say passionately. “You said you’d give me the truth.”

He sighs, then he tells me. And he’s right. It’s awful. The man had a photo album in his apartment. A photo album containing the sort of twisted, sickening images that deserve death.

“Oh.” My shoulders drop. “Oh, God.”

“Hmm.” He glares at me as if he’s mad I made him share that. “Are you going to judge me for taking out that trash bag?”

“What about the others? How many have you killed?”