Page 18 of Cruel Redemption

“I promise it won’t be long, and I’m still within my time allotment. I won’t break that. I have an opportunity to test the Petrovs. They are still my top suspect.” His expression was grim.

“If it was only Enzo, I’d agree with you, but the Petrovs have never crossed paths with me to warrant a declaration of war.”

“Maybe you were the one in the way.” He shrugged. “Regardless, I’m going to take the temperature there. See if anyone cracks. See if Andrey knows something about what Katya has been doing.”

It was hard to argue with his plan when he had a front row seat to the inner workings of one of the city’s biggest crime families.

“If only they would name their price. Give me a goddamn number and I’d fill in the check for Enzo,” I declared.

“I would too. But I haven’t gotten a message. Neither has my sister. It’s too quiet out there.”

I sighed. I let my head rest on his shoulder. I knew I didn’t have long like this.

“The more I look at it, the more I don’t like that cut.” He lifted the towel from my palm. I winced at the rush of air that hit it. “We might need to have someone look at it if it’s not better tomorrow.”

“It will be okay. It’s just right by my?—”

“Love line?” he answered. “I wonder if the gypsies in town would think that’s a bad omen or something. A sign from the Universe.”

I shook my head and almost laughed. “I don’t believe in what the fortune tellers say. I never have.”

“Maybe that’s because you didn’t grow up with all the New Orleans fairytales and lore. You know this city was built on that stuff. It’s the foundation.”

“Fairytales?” I huffed. “You believe in love lines on palms and tarot card readings? You know those shops are a hustle. A good hustle, I admit. They take tourists money left and right. Those women know how to feed people the lines they want to hear.”

He opened his palm and aligned it with mine. “What do you think? Do our love lines intersect?”

I didn’t believe in crystal balls, tea leaves, or love lines. I guess that meant I didn’t believe in fate. I wasn’t sure. I had created my own fate. I didn’t have a choice—it was thrust upon me when my father died. As I looked at our open palms, it was more difficult to reject the idea that our lives were supposed to intersect. We were meant to cross paths and repeat the pattern. Five years ago, I never would have told him that he was part of my fate. I didn’t tell him or let myself believe it. Not before he left for France. Not when our fathers kept us on different continents. Soulmates? Fate? Those words and fantasies were for people who had time for dreaming and romantic cliches. I’d never been that girl. I wasn’t that woman now.

And yet, I didn’t know how to explain why every time our bodies touched my breath quickened and my heart raced. I couldn’t put into reason that the nearness of him undid me. That the slightest whisper from his lips breezing against my shoulders, my back, or my neck could make me feel as if he was about to melt into me in a way no man had. Maybe after five years of denying it, I was ready to accept that Luka was my fate. He had always been a running line on my palm, as clear as a tattoo. Our love lines were always going to bring us back to each other. Why was it messy and complicated? Why didn’t the pain just go away?

“I don’t want to go, but I have to.” He glanced at me. “Katya.”

I folded the towel over the bleeding cut. “I know. Get all the information you can.”

“And dinner. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

My stomach rolled at the thought of food. I hadn’t eaten since the kidnapping. I looked at the limp pillow on the bed and the thin quilt.

“I might try to sleep.” I wasn’t sure that was possible. I was seized by too much adrenaline coming and going from my body.

“You should. It will be quiet. You’re safe.”

“My phone doesn’t work here. You can’t text and neither can I.” I’d given up on walking the corners of the room, searching for service.

“No texting?” He seemed alarmed.

I twisted my lips together. “Or phone.”

“There used to be a land line in here.” Luka walked the small perimeter of the cabin. It only took a few seconds. He rubbed the side of his square jaw. “We’re not going to be able to communicate here, are we?”

I shook my head. “No. This won’t work. If you’re going to lock me away, I have to be able to use my phone. And what about Ciro? He’s going to text when he lands at the airport. What if he gets in early? He has no idea where I am.”

“Damn it.” His short-term plan was already falling apart. “I don’t like that you can’t call me if you need me.”

“I don’t either. Hide me in the trunk?” I teased. “Then I can text you all through dinner.”

He huffed. “Funny. It won’t be for long. Just an hour. Two at the most. I promise. I’ll get back as soon as the Petrovs tip their hand.”

---