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“A deep clean?”
“The deepest,” he confirms. “You won’t recognize the place.”
That’s good news. Killing one mouthy Albanian will not be what brings this Bratva to the ground.
I honestly haven’t even thought about the execution since the meeting this morning. Piper has been a full and thorough distraction. Even now, I can’t quite get her off the brain.
“I need you to do something else for me,” I blurt.
Rooney sighs. “Why am I not surprised? There’s always something else.”
“I need you to look into Piper Quinn’s background.”
“The woman you had me lock up this morning?” he asks in surprise.
“I want to know more about her parents, her early life,” I tell him. “I’m sure she’s been in the system at some point. I want case files, parent’s names, anything you can get.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No.”
“If she is going to end up dead, I don’t want her name tied to my search history.”
It’s a reasonable question. If Piper were a soldier in my Bratva—or almost anyone else, really—she’d already be cold and buried.
Yet instead of rotting six feet under, she’s living in my house now. Working for me.
“She is safe. You will be, too.”
“I’ve risked a lot for you, Timofey, but—”
“Do what I ask and get back to me as soon as you can.”
“Yes, sir. Your wish is my—”
I hang up on Rooney mid-sentence and flip back to the food delivery app. Five houses away.
I sigh and push myself to standing. Avoiding Piper will only make things between us more turbulent. If she’s going to live here and take care of Benjamin, I suppose I’d better get used to the unique way she gets under my skin.
I left her in my room, but she’s not there. She isn’t in the room I’ve designated as hers, either. So I head down the hall to Benjamin’s room.
When I peek into the room, Piper is standing in the middle of Benjamin’s nursery, cradling him against my borrowed shirt, and singing a soft lullaby to him.
She has no idea I’m watching. I lean against the doorframe and observe.
Her song fades in and out from audible to nothing more than a whisper, but I can tell she has a nice voice. It’s soothing, at least. Clearly, Benjamin agrees, because I can see his little head lulled against her non-burned bicep.
“Looks like he’s asleep,” I murmur.
Piper jolts and spins around, her eyes wide, a scream caught in her throat. When she sees me in the doorway, she doesn’t relax. If anything, she stiffens further.
She spins back around and quickly places Benjamin in his crib. He stirs, unhappy with the sudden loss of her warmth and singing. For a moment, he’s teetering on the verge of a meltdown. I brace myself for a wail.
Then he settles. The soft sound of his little exhales fills the room.
“Go,” Piper hisses, shooing me out of the door. I step into the hallway and she pulls the door closed. “You shouldn’t scare someone holding a baby.”
“You shouldn’t have your back to open doors. You never know who might come through.”
