Page 27 of Killer Love

I glance at my watch. It’s just before noon. If I play this right, we can be out of here within an hour. Get in, explain the situation to Gio, and get out. There’s no need to stay any longer than that.

I throw on a smile and follow Yuri to the front door. “Privet, Gio,” I say, extending my hand. “It’s good to be back.”

He shakes my hand, whipping his wrist like a damn cowboy. “If only it could be under better circumstances,” he says.

“What did Markov tell you?” I ask, pushing as hard into business as possible while ignoring Yuri’s annoyed glance.

“Murder and mayhem in Moscow, as usual.” Gio chuckles. “He mentioned a few details, but most was deemed too sensitive for a phone conversation.”

“That’d be right.”

Gio waves us inside. “Well, let’s not speak outside. Let’s head to the study. You can fill me in there.”

Yuri nudges my ribs, his way of urging me to pump the brakes, but he has no idea what the other side of this doorway might mean to me. If I’m lucky, the path to Gio’s study will be clear and quiet.

Get in. Get out. Go home.

I follow them inside with my head down, listening to the two of them pass small talk back and forth. How is your mother? Is the business going well? Has your brother opened any new places? I don’t even hear the answers over the ringing in my ears.

As we move down the hall together, my neck tilts upward on its own, forcing me to look around and my memory returns to me. Once again, the estate hasn’t changed at all since I last saw it. The same boring paintings line the walls with the same over-the-top furnishings in every corner. The security has been cut in half — but there’s no special occasion calling for guns this time. Just me and Yuri.

We round the corner toward Gio’s study and I come to a grinding halt as something small collides with my knees. I let out a groan, thinking I’ve run into some ugly Zappia trinket, but my breath catches when I see otherwise.

It’s just a little boy.

He wraps his arms around my ankles to hold himself up and I freeze as he looks up at me with playful intent.

Those eyes.

They’re mine.

Bright and silver, somehow copied and pasted from my face onto his. He has that natural Italian look about him with brown hair and puffy cheeks — but those eyes.

The boy blinks, and I wonder if he sees it, too.

“Get back here!”

Her voice echoes around the corner before she even shows her face. As she rushes toward us, she keeps her head down and reaches for the child, but he holds onto me a little tighter, refusing to be tugged free.

“What have I told you about running in the halls?”

Sofia.

She’s even more beautiful now than she was before. I flinch at the perfect sight of her. Her chestnut hair has grown longer, and she’s secured it back in a sloppy ponytail. Stray hairs spider down over her forehead, framing her thin cheeks. She wears a loose blue dress with short sleeves, the skirt dangling down over her ankles. The stress of motherhood has done nothing to wrinkle her face. She does appear a bit tired, but I suppose the tiny ball of energy standing on my shoes explains that one.

Sofia leans over to gently pry his hands from my trousers. “Lucian, you know better than this…”

Lucian.

She scoops him into her arms as she stands up. “Apologize to…” Her eyes finally land on me and her breath leaves her body. “Mr. Lutrova…”

“There’s no need to apologize,” I say, still transfixed by his eyes. “You’ve done nothing wrong to me.”

Sofia looks from his face to mine and she turns away to conceal the blush in her cheeks from Gio’s watchful eyes.

“You both remember my wife, Sofia,” he says to us.

I clear my throat. “Of course, Madam Zappia.”

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