Page 49 of Heartfelt Pain
“How do you shop?” I ask.
“I go to a store.”
“But online?”
“We live in one of the largest cities in the world,” he states blankly. “I don’t need to shop online.”
“But it’s fun getting packages in the mail.”
He didn’t seem to think so. But I got my pizza after a certain amount of back and forth.
He doesn’t eat a single piece. I don’t mind eating his portion.
It’s almost eleven o’clock at night when there’s a knock on the door. I didn’t order anything else and Isolde normally texts before she comes up.
Trevino forces me to stay on the couch as he creeps toward the door.
“You expecting a Zimin?”
Oh, fuck.
Trevino is already drawing his gun.
“Wait, wait, wait, no.” I scurry to the door. “It’s fine.”
Not that I’m really sure about that. I peek through the peephole. It’s Roma. His hair is tousled and he’s got on his leather jacket.
It’s late and I never heard back after my last text.
“He’s not on the approved guest list,” Trevino notes.
“You’re telling me you haven’t vetted all of the Zimin’s?”
He keeps his face blank.
“What’s your professional opinion on them?” I can’t help but ask.
It’s like before. I can tell he has a lot of information but he’s not sure what he wants to say.
“The Russians handle their business,” he replies diplomatically.
“You hate them?”
“I didn’t say that.”
There’s another knock on the door.
His face remains neutral as he says, “I have been hired to protect you from an unidentified killer and the man knocking on your door has a track record of screwing you over.”
Is that my bodyguard speaking or my inner consciousness?
“Just open the door,” I tell him.
Standing tall, he pulls the door open. I peer around him, but he keeps his body—his very fit body—angled in front of me. I’m going to be texting Isolde about this.
Though, she’d probably agree with him.
“Do you want some pizza?” I offer.
