Page 70 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

I jam pizza in my mouth, forcing myself to focus on the rich tomato sauce, the odd olive, a crisp of pepperoni. Although there’s something I still don’t understand. I gesture to them. “Forks?”

“For dessert.”

“I’ll leave room, then.”

“You do that.”

Something sensual frissons in his tone and look. My chest flushes with heat. There’s one dessert I wouldn’t mind having …Nope, stop it. Not going there.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks. “Today, I mean.”

Halfway through gulping down my third pizza slice, I look up, surprised, then frown. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you care.”

A wolfish smile comes over his face, then drops. “Who says I’m pretending?”

You just met me,I’m about to say, then stop myself. There’s no point in arguing.

“What about my mom?” I ask instead.

Until I see that she’s alive and well, Gavril is all big promises and no real action.

“Ah, yes.” He gets out his phone and shows it to me. I exhale the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. There she is, in what looks like a nice doctor’s office, beside a youngish, bearded doctor who looks like he genuinely cares or is at least paid enough to pretend. “I can give you the number to call her at after dinner.”

“Thank you,” I burst out. “And I’m sorry, I thought …”

He eyes me quizzically. “What good would it do me to deceive you in this?”

“Still …”

He lifts a hand. “I know a determined woman when I see one. It wouldn’t benefit me to get on your bad side, I can tell.”

I eye him suspiciously, waiting for the crick of an amused smile. But it never comes.

“Besides, I know what people say,” he continues.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

He smiles. “On the contrary, it pleases me. It’s necessary.”

Before blurting out some sarcastic quip like I want to, I pause instead, letting what he just said sink in. Ostensibly, Gavril is some top-tier businessman. So why in the hell would it be necessary for him to be feared to be successful?

As I chew on the same sliver of pizza crust I’ve been nibbling on for at least five minutes, I try brainstorming other mega-business leaders. Was … Bill Gates feared? Warren Buffett? Oprah?

Nope, nope, and definitely not.

Unless his business is the kind where fear is a tool. The kind of business you don’t ask questions about.

“About today…” I force myself to say, since continuing this line of thinking won’t do me any good. “I enjoyed it, actually. All the shopping was tiring, but the spa was amazing and going into some of those stores …” I can’t tell whether I’m blabbing on for his benefit or mine. “I’ve never been in places like that. I mean, I always knew I’d never be able to afford even their freaking toilet paper, so why bother.”

Gavril nods. “Smart.”

I shrug. “Resigned, more like.”

“No, you were more concerned with helping your mom.”

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