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“I’ll clean this mess up and see you later.”
I hang up.
Now, I should go, return to my apartment, eat, try to get some sleep, and keep my phone near me, ready to leap awake if something happens. I need tomakesomething happen, but the leader of the Bratva is so damn slippery. Yes, I should leave, but I can’t stop thinking about Emma.
Instead, I take out my phone and do some legitimate business work. Answering emails, assessing a business permit, the boring parts of my job that nobody would ever dream I do. I realize I’m waiting. I’m waiting for her, getting ready to make another mistake.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Emma
“I’m sure,” Rosa says through the closed door when I ask if she wants to talk. “I just want to forget. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” I reply, almost snapping.
I feel like I’ve been saying that to her every few hours for the past two days. Her guilt is difficult to manage and respond to when I know what I’ve done.
“I’ll see you later,” I say. “Love you, Rosa.”
“Love you.”
I walk down the stairs, past the large paintings in their golden frames, gliding my hand along the ornate oak handrail. Leo is on his cell phone when I walk into the living room, across the rug, and to the armchair. His mismatched eyes watch me as I sit down, calm as a predator’s as if he’s assessing me.
“How is she?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Not great.”
“How haveyoubeen?”
I glance at the open door. “Fine.”
But he can tell something’s wrong. Suddenly, the idea that I can keep a shield up seems silly. Itfeelsso special for him to be able to read me, to care enough to do it.
“Shall we go to the garden?”
My heartbeat picks up, and my palms start sweating. I’d very much like to go to the garden with him, but there are sums to be calculated and excuses to be formulated.
“What would we say…”
I don’t have to finish.
What would we say if Rosa found us?
We’re starting to scheme, and I don’t like it. At the same time, I love it, hunger for it, want it, and need it.
How have the past few days been? Try torture. Try waking in the middle of the night, imagining he’s standing over me before I’m conscious enough to stifle the need. I am hugging pillows like a real freak, unable to stop.
“You’re a budding accountant,” he says. “Maybe I’ll show you my books for the legitimate businesses and give you a chance to hone your skills.”
“That… that could work,” I say as we cross yet another line.
He stands, raises his hand as if to touch me, and then drops it. I move toward him, ready for him to wrap his arm around me, and then stop myself as his hand drops. We both realize what we almost did, sharing so much steamy eye contact it aches. We almost naturally went to each other and held each other without even thinking about it.
We go upstairs, turning the opposite way from Rosa’s room, then up another flight of stairs to the rooftop. It’s peaceful out here with the hanging large bulbs lit and the tall brick wall closing off the outside world. The creepers crawl up the wall, and potted plants are everywhere. We go to the table and chairs—the same one me and Rosa were sitting at when the half-naked man appeared.
His forearms twitch as he rests them on the table, his jaw pulsing. It’s like a volcano barely contained inside of him, and hestares, that look I’ve noticed before—nothing else, anywhere, just for me.
“How have you been, really?” he asks.
