Page 93 of Inked Adonis

“Then you’d find an empty office,” he finishes, looking smug enough that I dread the next words out of his mouth before he even starts. “My brother is out of town. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

That makes two of us.

Despite my initial thought to play this cool and calm, I dig into my pocket for my phone. But I know no one has called. That’s why I’m standing here in the first place: Samuil wasn’t responding.

And that hasn’t changed.

My calls are still unreturned. My messages are still unread.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Ilya sighs, clearly enjoying my distress. “Communication has never been my brother’s strength. Especially with his women.”

I put my phone away. “How long is he going to be gone?”

“A week, at least. Probably longer.”

“Do you know why?”

“Of course, I do. Unfortunately—” His grin slips into a forced, pitiful frown. “—if Sam didn’t see fit to tell you, I’m not sure I have the right to. I’d hate to get involved in his personal business.”

With a flourish, he pulls out the chair next to me. “But please, sit. It’s the least I can do after you came all this way for nothing.”

The shock of learning that the man who was inside me last night but failed to tell me he was going to be out of town for the next week is the only reason I can think of for why my legs give out beneath me and I fall into the offered chair.

Before I know it, I’m being offered a glass of water with a lemon wedge on the rim.

I stare past it to the gaunt face of Ilya Litvinov.

The last time I saw him from this angle, there was a gun aimed at my forehead. He must be able to follow the trail of my thoughts because he rolls his eyes. “I forgot my arsenic at home, so the water is safe today.”

“I don’t know why you think I’d ever trust you,” I snap.

He leans back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “I see I’ve made a bad first impression.”

“Yeah, waving a gun around like a madman will do that.”

“I guess the failure to communicate runs in the family.” He chuckles like he committed a social faux pas instead of a violent felony. “We’ve never been good at talking things out. Wielding a firearm is sometimes the only way to get my brother to listen to me. Tell me, Nova: are you close with your family?”

It’s a simple enough question, but I feel like I’m being slowly backed into a corner. “Not really, no.”

“So, you don’t see them often?” he asks.

“Not if I can help it.”

He nods. “I see. Interesting.”

“Not really. We all have family members we’d rather never see again,” I point out. “Take you and Sam, for example.”

“Which member of your family do you not want to see?” he asks. “Is it your father, the police captain? Or maybe one of your brothers? They’re both officers, too, aren’t they?”

There it is.

I feel the figurative wall against my back.

I place my untouched glass of water on the coffee table and nudge it towards him. “Is this your cute little way of telling me that you’ve been checking up on me?”

“You can never be too careful.” He doesn’t even bother denying it. Why would he? It’s not as if there’s anything I could do to stop him. “The Litvinovs are an important institution in this city, Nova. We need to be careful who we bring into the fold.”

“I’m not ‘in the fold,’” I say. “I currently share an address with your brother, but it’s not— We’re not?—”

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