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“Cora makes breakfast around six.”
“She doesn’t need to cook for me. I could throw something together for myself.
“Don’t tell her that,” he warned, gaze sliding to me. “She will be insulted.”
“Good to know.”
“You said you didn’t have a mother figure.”
“I, ah, no. I was raised by my father. I mean, if you can call it raising. But I had no mother. She died when I was two.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t really know her,” I said, shrugging it off. I never could grieve for her for that very reason, but I could grieve for the loss of that connection. Especially now, being around someone who was clearly like that. “Is Cora related to you?”
“She was my father’s maid. She helped raise me along with my father who was often away on business. I had no mother either. She was American. She went home after depositing me at my father’s doorstep, got married.”
“She never saw you again?”
“Here and there. I used to visit my maternal grandparents some summers. Occasionally, she would happen by.”
“That’s why your accent is off.”
“My accent is off?” he asked.
“I mean, it’s Greek, but it isn’t as thick as some of the other Greek men I have known.”
“You’ve known many Greek men?” he asked, brow raising.
“I’ve done business in Greece before. Not often, but it has happened.”
“You’ve worked with my men?”
“I’ve worked with politicians.”
“So you’ve worked with my men,” he said, lips curving up slightly.
Maybe it should have been shocking. To know the politicians were in the criminals’ pockets. But I had been in this world long enough to know that damn near everyone was in some criminal’s pocket. Cops, politicians, businessmen. It was how they got away with what they did.
“I guess I have,” I agreed, shrugging. “You haven’t heard anything else from Chernev?” I asked, knowing it was smart to get back to more neutral topics.
“I didn’t expect to.”
“How did he get in touch with you before?”
“Using my brother’s phone,” he told me, jaw getting tight.
“Were you able to track his phone?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea if he is in Greece still, or if he has moved your brother back to Bulgaria?”
“I don’t,” he said, angry at his own helplessness. “The call came from inside a house. There were no background noises. It was impossible to tell where they were.”
“Do you have men in Bulgaria looking for him?”
“Of course. You think I am sitting around on my hands?”
“You’d be surprised how stupid some men in high positions of power can be,” I told him. “I once had to explain to a man who runs a country the specifics on how babies are made.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I wish I wasn’t,” I said, shaking my head at the memory of the boy wearing the skin of a man. He’d been stunted in so many ways. “It was a case of a woman he’d fathered a child with, and he could not fathom how that had happened. I didn’t get paid nearly enough for that job.”
“I can assure you, Miss Miller, I am fully aware of how babies are made.”
Really, it wasn’t even a sexy comment. But there was a thrill through my body regardless.
“I’m sure you are, Mr. Adamos,” I agreed.
“Trust me, I am doing everything within my power to find my brother. Preferably without having to make deals with the devil. So far, all these efforts have been in vain.”
“We will get your brother back, Mr. Adamos. That is the priority. Get him back, get him safe. And then you can go ahead and unmake that deal with the devil.”
His gaze slid from mine, looking over at the television without really seeing it, eyes far away. “You’re right,” he agreed. He sat for a moment more before abruptly getting to his feet. “I will be back before lunch. My men will be here should you need anything.”
With that, he was gone, leaving me to my baking show until boredom sent me back to my room, back to my bed, falling asleep for lack of anything else to do in the big, empty, quiet house.
I woke up to singing, with the bright, late morning sunlight streaming in from the window, making me squint to let my eyes acclimate.
It was Cora, far off, likely fixing breakfast in the kitchen.
And if there was one thing you could count on me getting out of the bed for, it was food.
Folding upward, I didn’t see anything off at first, until something toward the right side of the room behind the door caught my attention, something that hadn’t been there just hours before when I had gone back to bed.
Boxes.
And bags.
A dozen of them.
My first thought was of relief. I wouldn’t have to wear my sort-of washed intimates and my unwashed dress for another day.
Christopher—or likely someone Christopher employed—had gone out to get me some basic supplies.
