Page 17 of Brutal Promise

“Why would someone be after Alena?” His warm breath brushes my face, but his eyes are fixated on mine.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask questions, but someone followed me to our corner Italian grocery the other day. If I had my phone, I’d show you the picture. I acted like I was making a video for social media, but he hid his face in his hoodie. Big guy.”

“The same one from last night?”

“I don’t know. I never put the two events together.”

“Maybe you should.” His arrogant tone gives me a cold shower.

“You act like this is my fault!” I’m so frustrated that I pound his chest. He takes it and doesn’t move a muscle. I may as well be pounding on an oak door. “I’m not connected. I’m not part of Alena’s inner circle. I’m her friend, and I’d never repeat anything she says to anyone. I know if I did, I’d be dead, soyou tell me!” I raise my voice to make my point.

He easily catches my fists, gently holding them to his mouth, and I hate him for swiftly deescalating my anger. It’s as if I were dusted with pixie dust.

The silence in the room is unnerving.

“You let me hit you,” I whisper, lifting my head to meet his eyes.

“I did.” His dark gaze is calm and soft. He’s giving me a tiny opening into his gentler side, and I’m speechless. “I’ve been helpless before. I’ve lost many people, but two in particular. My world is dangerous. And I’m not fond of Italians, and you are Sicilian. Are you sure you’re not connected to the Cosa Nostra?”

“Why do you think that?”

“You’re someone, my little bird. The question is, who?

His eyes search mine. I can’t hide my vulnerability. My heart yearns to know and understand his pain. “Who are you?”

“My last name is Volkov. We head the mafia in parts of Russia and London. My brother, Nikolay, recently took over as the don after my father was murdered in Volgrad. It was a car crash, made to look like an accident. That’s usually how these things are done, so they don’t look like hits.” He kisses my knuckles and drops my hands before moving away.

“Do they do that here, too?”

“It can be anywhere. It’s a way of eliminating enemies without starting a war between families. No proof, no guilt. Why?”

He lets go of me and walks to a large window, deep in thought. He impresses me as a man who knows what he wants before he goes after it. He’s lived a lifetime, and he’s not even thirty years old if one were to judge his age on his physique. I assume he’s seen bad things like violence and death. But I know death too.

“Why did you pick me up last night?”

“You wanted to fuck me as much as I wanted to fuck you.”

I hope he didn’t hear my sharp inhale. His words stung. I have to remind myself that he’s higher than a soldier, and he’s a made man for sure. No one stabs a person so swiftly and is prepared to go further without practice and balls.

He’s honest, brutally honest. I don’t know if it’s better that he hurts my feelings now or lets me suffer an enormous heartache later. I need to stay away from this man. He’s dangerous, and it’s not just the physicality issue.

He turns. His face is stoic. I take in his dark eyes, and so help God, I want to run my hands through his thick hair.

“I need to get you home. I’m sure you have things to do,” he says coldly. “Get dressed. I’ll give you my jacket to wear over the shirt. I’m driving you home.”

With that, my walk of shame begins.

“Did you text Alena to tell her I’m okay? Is she home?”

“She knows you’re okay. I’ll tell Kirill we’re leaving now. He’ll let her know.”

“Fine,” I reply, telling myself not to care. He’s just another man who fucked me and left me. I’m a glutton for punishment, always picking the wrong guy.

It’s for the best, and I prepare myself for the slew of questions Alena will bombard me with as soon as I see her.

True to his word, we leave a few minutes later. I’m wearing his dress shirt that looks oversized on me, panties, and heels. I’m a poster child for a backup singer in an eighties music video. He holds a suit jacket for me as I slip my arms into it. I’m making quite the fashion statement today, and I can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it.

“Something amuses you?” he asks as he opens the door and looks both ways down the hallway.

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