“So, when you finish processing, what?” I ask. “You just take over? Just like that?”
When the drinks arrive, he slides a finger over the back of my neck before removing his arm from where he’d had it when Santo was here.
Ilya clears his throat. “It’s not quite that simple.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
Once more, he shifts and downs half his drink.
“Ilya?”
“Yes?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, something he always does. And I suddenly know he’s keeping something from me. Lying, I guess, by omission.
I sit back and fold my arms. “You can look at me, Ilya.”
He does, for about a nanosecond. “I am. See?”
“Don’t play that game with me.” I look at him then poke him in the side before refolding my arms.
But he does finally rest his gaze on me. “You’re so little and yet so annoying.”
I refuse to smile. “I’m not little. I’m not overly tall, but you make me sound like a doll.”
“A teeny, little doll.”
“Ilya.”
“A teeny, little, angry doll.”
“With teeth,” I say, “that bite.”
He chuckles.
“Ilya, whatever’s going on, you can trust me to keep a secret.”
“I know,” he says softly.
But I’m not finished. “I owe you, after all. You helped me out and kept my lie. You played into it, and look what happened? Santo backed right off the moment you told him who you were.”
“A—”
“Ilya. A strong and brave man,” I say. “One not to be trifled with.”
He laughs again, shaking his head.
“Who knows?” I continue. “Maybe talking through whatever’s on your mind might help you figure it out. I’m good with problems. Great.”
“Leave it alone.”
“Have you met me? Demyan and my father spoiled me rotten, and you did the same. You all created a monster. I get my way. I always do. So, come on, Ilya…tell me, or I’ll make your life hell.”
I’m teasing, and he knows it. The smile of delight gives him away.
But he finally sighs. “You really are a monster, Alina. My little monster.”
“I know,” I say, putting my hand on his arm and picking up my whiskey with the other. “It’s a problem.”