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His hand slowly glides along the angle of my chin before he brings both hands down to the table, placing each to a side of his plate making him look extremely formal out of nowhere. This is especially odd considering we’re sitting in our underwear eating a freshly cooked steak at one in the morning after multiple rounds of sex. Oh, and that’s after first taking my virginity. This can’t be normal…nor can he, at least in the traditional sense.
“We need to talk,” he says calmly.
“I agree,” I say softly, suddenly unsure if I want to come across as too aggressive to a man who almost seems anal retentive in some ways and also has a knife, which looks very sharp by the way, just inches from his hand. “And I won’t judge you or get up and walk out, no matter what.”
“Sweetheart, you’re always free to leave whenever you want.”
My eyes narrow, shocked at his words.
“But just realize the second you walk out that door one of the world’s best hunters of humans will be on your trail and have you back in his arms, where you belong, before you can even reach the sidewalk.”
I swallow hard. “I’m guessing that ‘best hunter of humans’ part is what we need to talk about.”
He leans back in his chair, his body still firm and rigid, his posture still regal, but not quite how it was before. It’s more welcoming now, but not by much. More than anything it’s as if he’s disarming himself, and ready to let me in on some untold secret. And I’m all ears.
“What do the students at school think about me?”
I’m a bit taken back, but I go with it anyway. “Well, the girls all think you’re hot, because you are, and the guys…I’m not exactly sure.”
“Because they’re too focused on the girls, who are more focused on the older foreign guys.”
“There’s only one older foreign guy in school. We don’t even have an exchange student.”
“I knew that before I applied for the position that didn’t exist.”
“Come again?”
He breathes in and then out, his body relaxing a bit more. “Are you familiar with the Russian mafia?”
“No, but I’ve watched the Sopranos and some movies about the Italian mafia.”
“Imagine the Italian mafia without the sharp suits, picturesque cities and cobblestone streets, and much less civility and class in general. Imagine instead of family ties making or breaking you, imagine your connections and plots all coming together in jails that aren’t even underfunded, but completely unfunded. Basically here’s four walls and some bars. Throw everybody in and the ones who figure out how to bribe the guards will be able to get food and survive, if they don’t get shanked first.”
“That’s your life?”
“Fortunately not, because I got in
volved in organized crime early and as a kid I had some time to build alliances with powerful figures before too much was expected of me.”
“Too much meaning what?”
“Anything the boss wants.” He pauses. “I tried to be Switzerland, not committing to anyone, ever. And in doing so I knew I had to carve out my own niche before I got carved up myself.”
“So you chose…?” I swallow hard, not sure if I want to hear his answer or not.
“I chose to protect my family, and that meant the first thing I did was kill the bastard who raped and hurt my mother.”
I cringe. “And in doing so I became a bastard at the same time, not that my father was a participant in anything that involved me or my life in the first place. He’d just roll into town once or twice a year, slap my mom around and take all the money she’d managed to save and hide around the house, and then have his way with her. And of course give me enough backhands to be a Wimbledon tennis champion in the process, as he was still angry that I existed in the first place.”
“That sounds terrible,” is embarrassingly all I can come up with, my appetite completely lost at this point.
“Not for my mother and I. It was the best thing that could have ever happened, except my dad was a soldier for one of the families, which meant I’d killed one of their men, which meant I owed them.”
“So you joined one of the Russian mobs?”
“I did one better. I remained independent and instead grabbed my mother and moved to the middle of nowhere, then moved back to the outskirts of Moscow and began doing mob hits for hire.”
“You’re joking?”
