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“I know.”
“You don’t.”
I press into him, feeling every inch of him beneath his pants.
“I don’t want to continue this until I answer all your questions.” He presses his lips against mine before he lifts me off him.
He stands up, offering me his hand. I take it, and he brings me to the balcony.
The door opens, sending a gust of wind through my hair. The air is colder than I thought it would be. I walk over to the edge of the patio, holding the bar that separates me from death.
His body presses on the back of me as his hands curve on top of mine. His head dips down to my ear.
“Ask your questions, my love.”
Looking down, I see the cars are so small they look like rocks, and the people look like ants. I shift my head to the side, allowing his lips to touch my neck. This is the exact reason I didn’t want him to touch me: I lose all rational thought. I can’t even remember what I was frustrated with this morning. I can’t be mad at anything when he touches me the way he does.
I look down at his hands, the year2004.
My hands lift from under his, and my fingers trace the numbers. “What happened this year?” I ask, my voice almost giving up on me.
“That’s the year my mother was taken from me.”
My breath halts. I thought she died of natural causes. “How old?”
“Twelve,” he answers. “That’s the year I became who I am.”
“Twelve is too young.” I shake my head, trying to think about anything but his touch. I can feel his chest on my back rising and falling.
“Where were you today?” I finally find the question that was hidden deep inside my mind.
He grabs my chin gently, bringing my attention to the street below that leads out of the city. “See that road?” he asks with a hum in his voice.
“I do.”
“Down that road is a man who wants you. I thought I took care of it last night,” he says with annoyance in his words.
Who wants me? What? Last night?
“Nina—” He grabs my hair, moving it to the side. “There is so much you don’t know.”
The traffic below fills the silence between us.
“My father was behind it.”
“What?” I try to turn toward him, but he pushes me closer to the rail.
“Kirill was too. My love, do you understand blood for blood?”
“I do.”
“I took two. Even if one was my own, they can take another.”
Even if one was my own?
Oh my God. The fire? That was Giovanni? He killed his own father.
“And now they want you.”
