Page 129 of Sinful

“Cady has gone mad. Tried to kill her stepfather. She trapped him in his car and set it on fire.”

Anatoly’s face paled at my words.

“And Sirena.” I let out a bitter laugh, taking in the fear in his eyes. “Someone tried to kill her when she was younger. Left her to rot in a box in a shed.”

He pushed past me and went to his toilet, where he fell to his knees and heaved his guts into it. I watched, waiting to finish the story. When he was done, he wiped his mouth and looked at me from his knees.

“Where is she buried?” he whispered, tears on his cheeks.

“Did I say she was dead?”

He frowned. “She-she lives?”

“Oh yes, she certainly does. In my home.”

“What?” He stumbled to his feet, the fear in his eyes morphing into something that showcased his terror. “You-you have her?”

“I do,” I answered as he stood before me.

“Please, I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t hurt her. She’s a good girl. The sweetest. She’s my-my princess. . . She-she dances. Ballet. Sings. Her voice is like an angel’s—”

I let out a laugh at him, angry at him for reasons I wasn’t able to pinpoint. Perhaps it was the fact he’d been under my nose the entire time and I was angry with myself over it. Or maybe it was because he’d walked out on her and Cady.

“I remember you,” I said, closing the space between us. “That night with Ivanov. The night my father took you from him. I assumed you were one of Ivanov’s top dogs.”

“Tell me about Sirena,” he choked out, ignoring my comments. “Please. Let her go. Set her free. She-she wants to be a singer—”

“She no longer speaks,” I snapped at him. “Her ordeal has left her mute. She wouldn’t even respond when I first met her. But after I claimed her. . .” I smiled at him, drinking in the way he shuddered and sucked in a sharp breath. “She came around for me.”

I twirled my knife again. “She still doesn’t speak much, but she’s a little crazy these days. I suppose being with me, she’d have to be. I tend to rub off on people.”

He lunged forward, his hands hitting my chest hard. I took a step back, my blood on fire with all sorts of wicked thoughts.

Quickly, I caught myself and whipped forward, stopping his next attack and kicking his legs out from beneath him. He went to his knees with a cry, my knife at his throat.

“Why did you fucking leave her?” I demanded as he clung to my arm, my knife biting his flesh.

“I-I had no choice,” he rasped. “I could never stay long. It was part of my-my job.”

“Who do you really work for?”

“N-Nicolai Reznikov,” he choked out.

I released him, letting him fall forward.

“So you were on the inside trying to get Ivanov.”

“And De Santis,” he said through a cough. “I-I worked both ends.”

“For what purpose?”

“Nicolai wanted information. He knew I could get it.”

“A mole,” I muttered, shaking my head at him. “How are you connected to Reznikov? Blood?”

“No.” He righted himself slightly and crawled back into his chair to stare up at me. A thin line of blood glistened on his neck from my blade, giving me a sense of satisfaction that helped quell the fire in my veins.

“Nico and I have been friends since we were children. Our fathers were friends. Best friends. You know how it works in our world.”

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