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“Yes,” I whisper truthfully, because there’s no use in lying now. He’ll see straight through it.
“But how would you have left when you’re monitored?”
I lift my chin. “I would’ve found a way.”
“Like…”
“Dressing as a maid or a delivery man or something.”
His lips tilt in what resembles a smile, yet isn’t. I’ve seen him every day for a whole week and I’ve never seen him smile, not even when he talks to his son. “How would you escape my guards and security?”
“I don’t know. One of them would surely take pity on me and help me out.”
“Take pity and help you out. Interesting.” The way he mulls the words over makes it seem like this entire thing is a real situation, not a hypothetical one.
I shrug. “Not everyone is as heartless as you.”
“And then?” he probes.
“Then, what?”
“Let’s say you succeeded in escaping. How would you survive in the outside world?”
“I’d leave the state and go to the South and work as a waitress or something.”
“And you think you’d get rid of me that easily?”
“I could try.”
“What if I caught you? What if you failed?”
“I’d try again. I wouldn’t stop trying until I succeeded.”
His jaw clenches as if I’ve landed a punch to his face, and his fingers dig painfully into my side. “You will not succeed, Lia. Never.”
“It’s just a hypothetical situation.” I squirm. “Ow. That hurts.”
He loosens his grip on my hip, but he doesn’t let me go. His face is still closed off and I’m lost as to why. Is it because Lia tried to escape before? I hope she succeeded.
An eerie feeling grabs hold of me at the thought that her escape could’ve only succeeded because she ended up dead.
The conversation has darkened his features, his cheekbones appear sharper, harder, like they’re able to cut. I really don’t want him in a sullen mood when I need that drink right now, so I clear my throat, motioning at the library. “Did you read any of these?”
“Why? Interested in reading one?”
“No, thanks. I’m barely finishing that thick as hell document.”
“Not a reader?”
“Nope. I prefer music.” I pause. “You’re probably not a reader either and only keep them for show.”
“I’ve read every book in this office.”
“No way.”
“Yes, I used to sit down and read as much as possible when my father was working here.”
I recall the memos from the document that mentioned his father, Georgy Volkov, who was a leader in the Bratva, too. His picture showed that he had grim, scary features, like he’d snap a person in two if they so much as spoke to him. Adrian shares some of his traits, but his looks and physique are more sophisticated than his father’s. He can easily be considered an honorable gentleman in public, when he’s actually a devil’s minion.
