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“What about your other family?” I ask.
“What about them?”
I can’t help but throw a jab. “Am I not going to meet them?” Under normal circumstances, if I’d moved in, he would’ve introduced me to his mother by now.
“You’ve met him.”
“Ilya? There’s no one else?”
“No.”
Short and sweet. He doesn’t like to talk about it. “Why did you lie about your age to join Spetsnaz?”
His features harden. “We were living on the streets.”
My heart lurches. I’ve been to Russia a few times. I’ve seen their winters, have walked some of their streets. And picturing sixteen-year-old Yan and his brother there, freezing, hungry, and alone… “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“I have nothing to be ashamed about,” he says harshly.
“Of course not.” I look at my hands.
“What happened to your grandmother?”
I lift my head quickly, my pulse jumping. “How do you know about my grandmother?”
“Do you really have to ask me that?”
Fuck. It makes sense that he would’ve done a background check on me, but I’ve kept communication with my grandmother private. I never speak about her to anyone. Caring about someone is a liability in our business.
His green gaze sharpens. “I asked you a question, Mina.”
He’s going to find out soon. It’s better I tell him than make him think I’m hiding something—because I am hiding something, and I can’t afford for him to go sniffing around. “She’s in a private clinic. She suffers from Parkinson’s.”
He studies me closely. “A private clinic where?”
“Budapest.”
“Private clinics are expensive.”
“So?”
His voice takes on a quiet tone. “Is that why you need the money?”
I shrug, as if it doesn’t matter. “She took care of me. Now it’s my turn. She’s a good woman.”
His gaze warms a fraction. “I don’t doubt that.” He pauses, then says with a peculiar deliberateness, “You’ll have to introduce us.”
I give him a startled look. “You’re joking, right?”
“Why would I joke about it?”
Fuck. This is the last thing I need. “As far as Hanna is concerned, I’m a waitress, nothing more.” Not that I’ll have any recourse if he blurts out my secret to my grandmother.
His eyes gleam brighter. “My lips are sealed. Who am I to disillusion an old woman?”
Dammit. He’s really set on this. “How do I explain who you are?”
“Don’t worry, my little waitress.” His smile is calculating. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”
Hanna isn’t a subject I want to discuss either. It’s bad enough he knows about her existence. I motion at his laptop. “I want the five hundred thousand upfront.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Is that so?”
“A deal’s a deal.”
“Fifty percent upfront. The rest you get when Dimitrov is dead.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Should I?”
Probably not. “I’ll give you the account number.”
His smile is lazy. My bluntness amuses him. He looks at me like an owner may look at a pet. His permissive expression lets me know he’s only allowing me to get away with this because he wants to, because he can. In a twisted way, even this—indulging me—is a display of his power.
After logging on, he types in the offshore bank account number I rattle off. When the transfer is done, he turns the screen toward me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You better earn it.”
I’m full of sass, but it’s all acting. “I’ll do my best.”
He cups my chin, wiping his thumb over my lips. “We’re not so different, you and I.”
The touch throws me off kilter. It’s simultaneously gentle and threatening. I want to both lean into his palm and pull away. “You mean we both kill for money.”
“You don’t let anyone get close to you.” His voice is soft, filled with an understanding I don’t want him to possess. “You don’t get close to anyone.”
It takes everything I have and more to stay put instead of jerking away. “You’re close to Ilya.”
“You’re close to your grandmother. That’s family. I’m talking about lovers. Friends.”
There is one person, the only friend I have, and Yan can never know about him. Breaking the disconcerting contact, I get to my feet. “I’ll have that nap after all.”
His clever eyes see through me. He knows I’m running. Hiding. “Go ahead. I put clean sheets on the bed.”
I don’t let him tell me twice.
I run and hide.
17
Mina
When I wake up in a cold sweat from my nightmare, it’s dark. I’ve slept for a few hours, but I don’t feel rested. Pulling the comforter up to my chin, I stay curled up under the warm covers. I don’t get up for dinner. I don’t have a shower. The mattress dips next to me as Yan gets into bed, but I don’t even have the strength to pretend I’m sleeping.
He pulls me close. “Mina.” When I don’t respond, he orders harshly, “Look at me.”
I wearily turn to face him.
“You skipped dinner,” he says. “I can make you a snack.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You barely touched your lunch. You have to eat.”
