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Maybe I’ll survive the meeting.
Maybe I won’t.
But when I look up to see Taylor watching me, and when I see her smile—that slow, soft, shy smile that says,I shouldn’t be looking at you like this, but I just can’t stop…
When I see that…
…I know that I’d do anything to see it again. And again. And again.
For as long as we both shall live.
58
ILARION
Dima and I have been sitting directly outside the Hotel Caravaggio in my Porsche. It’s been thirty minutes since we arrived, and ten minutes since Benedict Bellasio pulled into the circular driveway of the grand Italian-style hotel, climbed out of his ostentatious yellow Ferrari, and sauntered into the lobby with a brooding man close on his heels.
Dima glances at his watch. “Fifteen minutes ‘til the meeting.”
I nod. “What do you think?”
“I think just because it seems legit, doesn’t mean it’s going to be,” he grumbles. “Also, I don’t trust that snake.”
“No, nor do I. But I need to know what he wants.”
“He wantseverything,” Dima says. “More than his fair share. It’s no different than any other time we’ve run into him. Nothing new and nothing good can come of this meeting.”
“Yes, it can.” While he has a fair point, I’m determined to make something useful out of this dog-and-pony show. “I might be able to negotiate some sort of exchange for Archie.”
“He’s never going to give up Archie. That’s his only bargaining chip.”
I glance at Dima with raised brows. “What’s the point in having a bargaining chip if you’re not willing to cash it in when needed?”
Dima sighs. He takes out his gun and places it in the glove compartment. “Well, fuck… We’re actually doing this.” He takes a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have made her any promises.”
I nod. “I know.”
And yet I did.
I’d do it again, too.
“So… Seeing as how we might not get out of this alive, I’m gonna ask you something I would never have otherwise asked.”
“I doubt that. But go ahead.”
Dima smirks. “Is it love?”
I tense, the breath stuck in my throat. “I…I don’t know.” But how true is that? There are moments when I feel like I do know.
I’m not sure which answer makes my blood churn more:Yes, I love her—or no, I don’t…but I’ve done far too much for her anyway.
“Fuuuck,” Dima laughs. “I never thought I’d see the day. It has feelings after all.” He pokes me to make it clear which “it” he’s referring to.
“Come on.” I step out of the car before I have to endure any more of his prying questions or irritating side-eyes.
We step through the gilded doors and over to the concierge. The lobby sits beneath a massive stained glass dome, the walls decorated with a sprawling mural painted in baby blues and delicate pinks. Fat-cheeked cherubs flit between clouds and topless goddesses gossip next to stars.
“I’m here for a meeting with Benedict Bellasio,” I inform the pencil-mustached man behind the counter.
