Page 104 of SINS & Riley
He only shrugs.
As in, that’s the end of the conversation, Riley.
Ha. Right. Like I’m letting it go there. He has no idea who he’s up against. Mark my words, if he’s going to be my regular driver, I will wear him down.
“Blink twice if you know him.”
Hmm. I study him hard in the rearview mirror, but he’s hiding behind glasses so dark they might as well be blackout curtains.
“Was that a blink?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch. Yep, the guy’s a total vault—sealed, padlocked, and buried six feet under.
I flop back against the leather seat, drumming my nails on the armrest. Argh. Nothing. Not even a twitch.
“The suspense is killing me, you know,” I press.
“I know.” And then it happens. The smallest flicker of a smile. “My boss told me it would.”
“Ah ha!” Point a finger at him. “You do know him.”
“Yes. And it's our little secret.” He pulls down his glasses and winks.
And I know that big, bad Boris and I are going to get along just fine.
The car winds higher, past olive groves and stone walls draped in ivy, until the horizon opens onto an estate so sprawling it looks painted.
Rustic walls, gardens wrapped in bursts of purple bougainvillea, and a stream tumbling down the hillside like it was placed there for dramatic effect.
“Whoa.” I lean forward against the glass. “Is this where I’m staying?”
“Who’s to say,” Boris replies simply, pulling up the drive.
“You, Boris. You’re to say.” I deadpan.
“It isn’t up to me, Ms. Zapretnaya. It’s up to you.”
A choice.
Zver’s giving me a choice. He always gives me a choice.
Like, what? Does he have six more estates waiting on standby for me to pick from?
Because that’s insane.
Then again, if anyone’s the kingpin of insane, it’s my guy.
…Did I just say my guy?
Zver is not my guy.
Is he?
I look up at the towering estate.
As much as I’d love to throw myself into the Italian lap o’ luxury—two sprawling stories, at least twenty rooms, Juliet balconies practically begging me to sip cappuccinos on them—it scratches a deep itch under my skin.
We roll to a stop beside a fountain—because, yeah, it’s one of those places—and I curl my hand around the door handle.
