Page 191 of Silenced

“I have to keep my promise,” he tries to appease.

“And you think someone’s going to hide in our locked bedroom?” I twist on his knee to glower at him. “Are there cameras in the bathroom?”

He blinks. “No.”

Because of the hesitation, I grind out, “If I discover there are, I’ll cut you with Zub.”

It’s hard to be mad at him when most of his stories are heartbreaking—like how he lost his favorite alligator to a hunter and named the knife after her so he can keep the holster close to him for protection—but I’m angry enough this time to dismiss all that.

Especially when my threat has him smirking at me.

With another man, it’d be because he doesn’t believe me capable of it.

But not Niko. No, he knows that I’d take his favorite knife and thrust it in his face.

“If you did that,solnyshko, there’d be repercussions.”

Repercussions that come in the form of the erection that’s made an appearance beneath my ass.

I roll my eyes. “Niko, this isn’t sexual. It’s my privacy! You’ve already stolen most of it from me. I think I should be allowed at leastonepersonal area. Otherwise, it’ll drive me crazy.”

“I want to keep you safe,” he says, and the pain that leaches into those words has me blowing out a breath.

Not only because that’s the promise he’s made to me time and time again, one he backed up with a team of guards who follow me around like shadows, but because Dmitriwasn’tsafe and he’s taken on the full blame for that.

Sagging against him, I mutter, “I understand in the other rooms. I mean, that’s how you saved me from Pavlivshev.” A fact I’d learned during our argument. “But not our bedroom.” I bite my lip. “Or my office.”

“Your office?”

I nod, determined not to concede defeat. “Yes. I want an office. I used to have a blog before I left NYC, and I’m not going to continue with it, but I-I can’t just sit around waiting for you to entertain me with your dick—”

“Why not?”

“—so I think I’m going to diversify,” I continue, ignoring his interruption and waving my notepad at him. “I’ve been making plans.”

“About what?”

“You’ll laugh.”

Niko frowns at me. “Me?”

Well, he has a point. That’s a big ask for him. But…

“Yeah.”

That has his frown darkening. “Why would I laugh?”

“Because I don’t have…” I release another breath, annoying myself with my anxiety. “I was thinking about doing a cookbook.”

“‘Doing a cookbook,’” he repeats, then something slithers into his eyes. Something I don’t trust. “You can have an office. Do you want a test kitchen too?”

“A test kitchen?” I ask warily. I mean, I do want one, but Niko, I’ve come to realize, is a born negotiator.

A nod.

“No cameras,” I retort, diving into bartering mode. “Apart from one above the door to whichever hallway it leads onto.”

“Agreed.” He nods again. “I’ll have—” His eyes close. Pain makes his already stark features bleaker so I know he was going to say ‘Dmitri.’ “—Igor arrange it. It can be done by the time we’re back in Florida.”

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