Page 103 of Jaded Devil (Kovalyov Bratva 4)

Kian gives me a smile so deadly that I feel my heartbeat falter slightly. I look away immediately as he sits up a little straighter.

“Where would you like to start?” He gestures towards the feast between us.

I glance at the table, feeling a little bit like a kid on Christmas morning. I want to tear open every single present in front of me, but I want to savor it all, too. “The burger,” I decide.

“Good choice,” Kian says with a nod. “Have at it.”

I hate that my fingers tremble as I reach for the monstrous burger. I have to readjust my position to reach it. But before I can, Kian beats me to the punch. He takes the burger, pops it on an empty plate and hands it over to me.

“Thanks,” I murmur grudgingly.

He answers only with another deadly smile. Maybe I’ll do better if I just don’t look directly at him.

I’m about to take a bite of the burger when I stop myself just in time. Just because I’ve agreed to this doesn’t mean I need to play right into his hands so easily.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing my hesitation.

“Answer a question for me first.”

His smile gets wider. “You should have been the Lombardi heir,” he says. “Much better at the negotiating table.”

I blush at the oddly endearing compliment.

“Anyway,” he says. “Go ahead. The floor is yours. Ask away.”

“And you’ll answer honestly?”

“I’ve already told you I will,” he says. “I don’t lie.”

“All men lie.”

“All the men you know lie,” he snaps. “I’m not like them.”

I decide not to argue with him. I’m wasting time and delaying the moment when I can finally devour the beautiful piece of meat in front of me.

“Okay, first question,” I start, realizing I barely know where to begin. “Uh… well, give me a minute.”

He laughs. The sound makes me feel surprisingly light. “By all means, take your time.”

I look down at my burger longingly.

“You sure you don’t want a bite first?” he asks with a slight edge of a tease in his voice. “It might help you focus better.”

“I’m fine,” I retort. “I just need a minute.”

He holds up his hands like I’ve got a gun pointed at him.

There is something I’ve wondered about over the past several years. It’s not a particularly pressing question, but I feel the need to ask anyway. “What were you thinking the day we… met?” I ask tentatively. “When you saw me standing there? Do you even remember?”

I expect a shrug or a smirk. Something that’ll indicate that the memory was and is inconsequential to him.

But the expression on his face is sober. Solemn.

“Of course I remember,” he whispers. “I remember everything. You were standing there in your little flower girl dress, smattered with blood. I was thinking you were too young to have seen so much violence, so much death. But I was also thinking that maybe, you’d have a chance. Your father was not a good man, Renata.”

I flinch back, but I don’t say anything.

“If he’d lived, he would have used you.”

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