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I bite my lip harder as more tears come to my eyes. “Fuck, I really don’t know why I’m crying. I’m usually not like this.”
“Darling, don’t ever apologize,” he replies softly, wiping my tears with the back of his hand. “You are amazing and so very special to me. We’re going to get through this together. I promise.”
I swallow hard, but the lump that’s formed in my throat refuses to budge.
Avraam kisses my stomach, looking up at me with nothing but respect and affection in his eyes. His reaction isn’t just surprising to me. I’m stunned by it. Since when did my filthy boss become such a gentleman?
I like it, but it’s almost a little worrying.
He stands up, holding my hands again and smiling down at me. “We’re going to get through this, Kimberly.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“So, I need you not to freak out when I tell you what I’ve been doing all day,” he says, his voice suddenly tightening. “It’s… um, not something I’ve talked about before.”
Oh God, more surprises.
But I should’ve guessed something like this would be coming. I’ve already learned that he’s potentially being hunted by his brother and that he spent twenty-five years behind bars for murder. I shouldn’t be shocked to hear what he has to say next.
I still brace myself for it, praying that it won’t be something unforgiveable or outrageous. For once, I want this to be a good surprise, like the bundle of roses before everything turned sour.
All I can think about, though, is the mess of petals that now litters my kitchen floor.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Avraam says, trying to steer me away from the door.
“No,” I reply, refusing to budge. “I’m fine. Whatever you’re about to say, I’m ready to hear it.”
He nods. “Okay, but understand that what I’m about to tell you stay between us.”
“I have nobody to tell.”
He narrows his eyes at me, searching my face for a lie, but he can’t find one. Satisfied, he lets out a sigh of acceptance. “Alright, let’s talk about the basement in your house.”
19
Avraam
“Iused to own that house,” I say with a smile, moving over to the counter where I pour myself a glass of orange juice. I offer one to Kimberly, but she declines. “But when they locked me up, they took everything I had and sold it.”
“Crime doesn’t pay,” she reminds me.
I laugh. “Oh yes, but my crimes paid me a lot of money. More than you can imagine, darling.”
I’m met with a stern look. She’s not nearly as enamored by material wealth as I am, but that’s what I admire about her. I need someone to even me out, to force me to appreciate other sides of life. To show me what it feels like to love someone and be loved back.
“Well, I made enough to buy that house, but that wasn’t the only place I put my money. Once the warrant was issued for the murder, I knew I didn’t have much time before I was going to end up behind bars. I planned on fighting the case, of course, but since they knew it was me who pulled the trigger, I didn’t think I’d be able to get away with it.”
“Why kill anyone at all?” she asks, shaking her head.
I shrug. “Petty stuff, really. He wanted me dead, and I wanted him dead. It was mostly about money and territory, but believe me, if I didn’t kill him first he would’ve gotten me. I’d rather be in prison for twenty-five years than serving life in a coffin.”
“I feel like there must be another way to handle something like that,” she replies, but I can see she doesn’t have much hope. This is a violent life, and the only way that you can avoid violence is to be so high up that you’re untouchable.
I take a sip of my orange juice. It’s more acidic than I remember it being. I swear fruit used to be sweeter twenty-five years ago.
“Who was he, the man you killed?” Kimberly asks, cocking her head to the side.
“A man who went by the name Markov,” I reply, experiencing a flood of memories at the utterance of his name. I haven’t said it in ages. “Markov was a greedy bastard, but in that way we were alike. It’s the people most like you that you end up hating the most.”
