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“I can move Hanna somewhere safe.”
“She’s fragile. She won’t survive the stress.” I glance over the door. “I better go.”
“Wait.” He catches my wrist. “At least tell me what you’re getting yourself into. Tell me what this job entails.”
“It’s better you don’t know.”
“Just put my mind at ease. That’s all I’m asking. For God’s sake, I may never see you again.”
Hearing it hurts. It hurts as much as I’m able to feel for someone other than Hanna. And Yan—though I’m not yet comfortable admitting that to myself. “The job is Dimitrov.”
His eyes widen. “Casmir?”
“Yes.”
“The man’s security is unbreachable.”
“I’m going to pose as Natasha Petrova under the guise of selling a stolen painting.”
“I’m not sure there’s any painting he’d find worth the risk.”
“He already agreed.”
“What? What the hell are you selling?”
“The Salvator Mundi. It’s a fake.”
He gives me an impressed look. “I can’t believe you pulled it off. Where are you doing it?”
“Hotel Paris. Yan has a government connection that put pressure on the manager to work with us.”
“The painting was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“It was the only way I could think of to get Dimitrov alone.”
“Mink, you know what will happen to you if your cover is blown.”
“No one will blow my cover. Yan and his team are invested in this job. They’re not going to jeopardize their own mission.”
“What about the hotel manager? Can you trust him?”
“Yan’s government connection does. I think he’s safe.”
Gergo presses a finger above my heart. “Just make sure you’re safe.”
“It’ll be a piece of cake. All I have to do is walk in, say hello, offer Dimitrov a glass of champagne, and that’s it. I don’t even have to pull the trigger.”
“If you have doubts—”
“I don’t.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“One hundred percent.”
“If you need me—”
“No. I’m not dragging you into this. Promise me you’ll stay away from Yan and his team. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He cups my cheek. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m tougher than that.”
A loud knock falls on the door. “Mina?”
Fuck. Shit. It’s Yan.
The blood drops from my head all the way to my toes. Gergo climbs onto the bench and flattens himself against the wall, his hand going for his gun.
Yan won’t hesitate to break down the door if I take a second too long to let him in. I turn the lock and open the door wide, hiding Gergo behind it. I don’t give Yan a chance to step inside. With the dress clutched in my hand, I walk out ahead of him, not looking back to see if he’s following. All the way to the register, my heart beats in my throat, but I walk with confidence.
I walk like I have nothing to hide.
At the counter, I hand the dress to the sales lady. It’s only when she rings it up that I dare to turn. Yan is right behind me, taking a wad of bills from his wallet. Relief floods me, leaving me lightheaded. From the corner of my eye, I see Gergo cutting across the floor toward the exit. Pretending to watch a mother with a screaming child, I follow Gergo’s progress until he steps out onto the pavement. By the time Yan lifts his eyes to the tantrum scene, Gergo has already disappeared around the corner.
My hand shakes slightly when I take the bag from the sales lady.
Yan fixes his attention on the exchange, his eyebrows pulling together. Taking my elbow, he steers me outside. “Everything all right?”
“I’m just a little hungry.” It’s not a lie. “I get shaky when I don’t eat.”
He checks his watch. It’s close to lunchtime. Reassured by my explanation, he walks me to a fancy restaurant and asks for a table on the terrace. A hostess leads us to the rooftop where I’m surprised to see only one table set among flowering potted plants.
Yan orders the usual. The waitress serves champagne, giving him a sultry look. My pulse spikes in protest, a feeling close to jealousy burrowing into my chest.
“You come here often,” I say when the woman is gone.
“They have good food.”
I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip. The champagne is fizzy and yeasty. “Just the food?”
He doesn’t reply, which is an answer in itself.
The expensive liquor turns sour on my tongue. “I’d appreciate it if we went elsewhere in the future.”
He cocks a brow. “Is there something wrong with the setting?”
“I don’t like to have my face rubbed in your ex-lovers, at least not while you’re fucking me.”
His gaze drills into mine. “Why does that bother you?”
“It’s humiliating.”
“Sleeping with me is humiliating?”
“It’s humiliating to be paraded in front of your ex-lovers.”
A spark of amusement lights up his eyes. “Are you jealous?”
The bastard is pleased I’m feeling like this. “No.”
He considers me for a moment, then says, “We’ll go somewhere else next time.”
