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I lock my fingers together and continue, “No, I think it might be time for you to come to a truce.”

He snorts. “Really?”

“What if you could make one of your enemies your ally?” He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. I’ve got him listening. I just need to sell it. “Remember when I said Kiril could have been your fiercest supporter?”

“Yes.”

“Making peace with him could help you both focus on Cardona. It would make you stronger.”

And it’ll keep Jonas safe. I swallow hard when Pavel peers into my eyes. It’s that intense curiosity that makes me shiver, the look of an experienced bullshitter trying to see if I’m bullshitting.

And I’m not. At least not all the way.If Pavel finds out Jonas is sleeping with the enemy…

“How would you make peace with Kiril?” he asks.

I draw a breath and hold it for a second. When I exhale, I say, “I would apologize.”

He laughs dryly. “For what? Hurting his feelings?”

I ignore the sarcasm and say, “Put aside your pride, your honor, and your guns for a minute and just treat him the way you would want to be treated.” I pause as I take off my sun hat and carefully set it on the coffee table. “You know, with respect.”

He studies me a little more intensely than before. It’s like he’s trying to figure me out, to sift through my thoughts. “I don’t think we’re talking about Kiril anymore, Liya.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

“Us.”

I gulp as I shrug a shoulder, unable to speak. He’s not wrong. But I won’t say he’s right.

He squints curiously as he asks, “How doyouwant to be treated, Liya?”

It’s the veranda all over again. And it’s strange to feel like he’s asking with the intention of listening.

I meet his gaze.

No, it’s more than that, I consider.He’s asking with the intention of delivering.

When he takes my hand, my muscles stop vibrating. My heart stops racing. My breathing evens out. Everything settles.

Like he’s the key to it all.

“I want you to do the same with me,” I whisper tentatively. “I want you to treat me like your equal.”

There’s so much steel in his features that I think for a second I haven’t gotten through to him at all.

And then it just melts away.

What remains is what I’ve often hoped to see in him—a human being.

“My word is my bond,” he says. “Thank you for your help,Lisichka.”

That’s it?“Of course. You’re welcome.”

I don’t miss the subtle tug of his hand. Maybe it’s my imagination at first or some secret desire to be close to him—or maybe it’s the mimosas I drank at brunch—but I climb on top of him and kiss him. It’s one of the slowest kisses we’ve ever shared, like we’ve been lovers for years but haven’t seen each other in decades.

It sparks something in me.

Hope—like maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought.

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