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“No, you’re not.”
She stares at me, a silent battle of wills. Then she starts to slide out of the booth.
Before she can reach the edge, I lift my leg and plant my foot on the seat, blocking her path. “Don’t mistake my sense of humor for weakness, Cora. Don’t test me. You will not win.”
“And what are you going to do? Chain me up?”
She says that as if it isn’t a distinct possibility. I just killed a man in front of her. Chaining her up barely registers on the spectrum of terrible things I’ve done.
But just as I start to answer her, an idea comes to me.
A bad idea. Possibly the worst one I’ve ever had.
I could chain Cora up. That would be one way to handle things. But the assassin admitted he shattered the windows to try drawing Cora outside so he could get a clear shot. I’m not going to draw out whoever is coming after her by keeping her locked away.
She needs to be visible.
She needs to be with me.
“Actually, I believeyou’llbe the ball and chain.”
Her nose wrinkles. “What are you talking about? What does that mean?”
The woman is difficult already. This plan won’t make her any easier to handle. But until I can guarantee her safety and figure out who she is, I don’t see that I have another choice.
Choices and consequences. Consequences and choices.
I’m making a choice. I’m more than ready to suffer whatever follows.
“It means you and I are getting married.”
17
CORA
He’s kidding. Hehasto be kidding. Right?
Right?!
Ivan leads me back through the kitchen. I keep hold of his hand only because I’m not sure I can navigate the restaurant by myself right now.
I’ve spent too many hours here to count. I’ve worked opening shifts and stayed long after closing. Any other day, I could do cartwheels down the hallways with my eyes closed.
But right now, my mind is a complete and utter blank.
As we walk into the kitchen, I look to the counter where Ivan killed the man. Five minutes ago, it was a stomach-turning bloodbath.
Now, though, it’s spotless. No blood. No body.
“Your guy does quick work,” I say softly.
Ivan looks towards the counter and shrugs. “He’s had practice.”
Goosebumps sprout across my shoulders and down each arm.Whoisthis man?
He saved my life and then turned around and took another ten minutes later. I’ve always known people aren’t black and white. My mom was a perfect example of that. There are no angels and demons. No clear delineations between the good and the bad in the world.
But Ivan Pushkin lives in the gray space like no one I’ve ever known. I can’t make sense of him.
