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Clary makesme a hit of espresso after dinner and Katiya has a cappuccino.
We make our way to my study so she can make her phone call.
I feel like a prick escorting her there like she’s in prison and listening to every word she says. I already advised her to keep it short and sweet. And no talking in Russian.
My home phone is a silent number, so nobody will be any the wiser to where she’s calling from.
I have instructed her to say she’d lost her phone and is in the process of ordering a new one, and if I hear any code words… it’ll end badly.
I also told her not to call Vlad.
“You don’t understand,” she pleads. “Ihaveto.”
I don’t like this; I don’t like this look that’s come over her.
She’s usually so sure of herself, but her demeanor changes when we start talking about this fuckface. Everything changes. I don’t like it.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“I already told you, no, not that it’s any of your business.”
Our comradery over dinner has expired, I see.
“It is all my business while you're under my roof, using my phone,” I say, matter-of-factly. “It seems odd that you have to check in with him when he’s not your boyfriend. What’s the deal, Katiya?”
“I told you, he looks out for me.”
“So that translates to mean that he wants to be more, but you won’t let him, yet you keep him dangling on a string?”
She shakes her head. “You have that entirely backwards.”
“Do I?”
She stiffens. “What’s it to you? I’m here against my will, under house arrest, so it’s not like you care. If you did, you wouldn’t be badgering me with questions to which I won’t giveyou the answer.”
“Right, that youwon’tgive me the answer to.”
“You’re a Medici,” she reminds me. “I’m a Petrov. We both know what complications that causes.”
“We’re also two people having a conversation.”
“Two people from two very different worlds.”
Like she needs to remind me. “Enemies,” I say. “You can say it.”
“Do you hate all Russians, the Bratva or just the Petrovs?”
“It’s not about hate, Katiya. Your uncle and your father kept you out of the Familia for a reason. It’s best we keep it that way, you know how it works.”
I won’t discuss mafia business with her.
The look on her face tells me she knows exactly how it works.
She’s also very submissive when mentioning her family, and I can’t say I blame her. The Russians are renowned for being ruthless. They have no ethics, no values, and no moral compass at all. I wonder if she has any of those things.
I know anything I say to her will go back to the Petrovs when she’s set free.
It’s easy to get caught up in this thing between us, whatever it is, but I won’t let my guard down. She’s a stranger. The less she knows about me, the better.
