Page 79 of Silenced

Again, he nods.

Relief filters through me.

I don’t know why he’s keeping me here, not when he treats me like a patient whose next breath depends on how many times he can get me to climax, but at that news, I don’t care.

The cops never stopped Harvey. If the mob will, I won’t complain.

Still, I’m confused about why he’s doing any of this so I pepper, “Why?”

“You’re not ready to hear the answer to that.”

God damn him.

Though my lips purse, I demand, “Does he owe the Russians too?”

Nikolai stills and something flickers in his gaze as he shakes his head.

Once.

More perplexed, I inquire, “Are…” Well, he just killed one so maybe it’s past tense. “Werethe Albanians and Russians allies?”

His top lip quirks. Minutely. I think that means he’s amused.

I earn myself another shake of his head.

Okay, so my being here, my continued protection—as weird as it is—has nothing to do with business.

Man, this conversation’s been less enlightening than I’d prefer.

Sucking in a breath, I try again: “Will you let me out of here when he’s dead?”

The smallest of flickers of his eyelashes lets me know that he’s of two minds about how to answer.

Honestly, the fact that I can read his eyelashes is indicative of how little his face ever moves.

My nails dig into my palms as, ignoring the shimmy of pain from the still-healing lacerations there, I await a response.

Just when I’m certain he won’t reply and I’ll be fed some more goddamn potato salad on a breadstick, I try to encourage him to communicate with me by asking, “Am I still in danger from the Albanians?”

He hitches a shoulder that jostles me—with his heft, he’s the male version of the San Andreas Fault. “Technically. They see you as a means of repayment. That repayment is still required… Danger follows you,solnyshko. Only I can promise you safety.”

Damn if he isn’t wrong.

My shoulders hunch inwards. “It isn’t my fault—”

“Whether it is or not doesn’t matter. The Albanians were wronged by your ex, and they believe you’re their property.”

Before he can continue, I grind my teeth. “I’m not a commodity.”

“To the Albanians, you are.”

His perennial lack of expression makes me want to shake him. Instead, I sign, “Why did you kill him?”

He studies me. “You mean the Albanian?”

Who else?

“Yes.”

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