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“No. Definitely not.”
What happened in the bathtub relaxed me, but now, I feel wired. Adrenaline courses through my veins. I’ve never been more awake.
“Me neither,” he says. “But I am starving. I think a doctor would recommend both of us refuel and rehydrate.”
I shove a bite of pasta in my mouth so I don’t have to find the words to respond to that.
It’s only been half an hour since we climbed out of the warm water and got dressed, but it already feels like another world. Like some hazy, lust-fueled dream.
The bubble really burst when Timofey ordered us food.
“What do you want?” he asked, the phone wedged between his stubbled jawline and shoulder.
I shook my head. “I’m not actually very hungry.”
“She’ll take the pasta,” Timofey said without hesitation. “The cheesiest one you have.”
He was already ignoring me and making decisions on my behalf. Sure, his decision was the right one because I’m now famished and this is the most delicious pasta I’ve ever tasted. But still.
“What time is it, anyway?” I pat my back pocket, but my phone isn’t there. A surge of panic sends me lunging for the couch, sliding my hand between the leather cushions.
“Late.”
“It was late when we got here,” I say. “It might technically be ‘early’ now.”
“Why does it matter? It’s the middle of the night. No one else is up. Enjoy the peace.”
Peace. I guess, in some ways, I’m one step closer to peace.
By five this morning, Ashley and Gram should be on their way to the airport to board their flight to Mexico. A few more hours, and they’ll be beyond Timofey’s immediate reach.
The irony of me drawing closer to Timofey while I try to get my family and friends away from him is not lost on me.
The truth is, I’m worried Timofey might hurt Ashley or Gram. I’m worried for Noelle. But I don’t worry for myself. Timofey has done so much for me, despite the many times he could have taken me out of the equation. Too much probably. More than I could ever repay.
I trust him. Even if I shouldn’t.
“Is that why you have this place?” I ask. “For the peace and quiet?”
“Everyone needs a place to go when the shit hits the fan.”
“What does that mean for you? Like, during a Bratva war or something?”
He nods. “Yeah. Or when Sergey decides he’d like his Bratva back and kicks me to the curb.”
“Could he do that?”
“Now?” He shakes his head. “No. But at one point, maybe. When I was young. I bought this place with the first real paycheck I ever earned.”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “You boughtthiswith your first paycheck?”
“It didn’t look like this,” he chuckles. “It was down to the studs. The tenants before me trashed the place. I got it on the cheap. The relative cheap.”
“Still… I think I bought cigarettes with my first paycheck.”
“No shit,” he says. “You were a smoker?”
“I haven’t always been so prim and proper.”
