“Katyusha.” He doesn’t touch me again but beseeches me with his eyes instead. “I’m sorry for making you worry. I understand that this situation isn’t easy on you.”
I suck in a breath, trying not to cry. I’m not usually a tearful person, but I’m not myself. The current circumstances are getting the better of me.
“Wait for me in the library,” he says. “I need a shower. Then we’ll talk.”
I don’t argue. I go back to the library and pace the floor while I wait. Not ten minutes later, he joins me. His hair is still damp, and he changed into a pair of dark pants and a white shirt.
“Come,” he says, draping an arm around my shoulders and leading me to the sitting area facing the fireplace. “You need a drink.”
He gently pushes me down onto the sofa while he goes to the liquor tray. After pouring a stiff shot of vodka, he carries the glass to me. “Here.”
Obediently, I take a sip. “What happened?”
In a blink, he clams up again, a closed-off look coming over his features.
“Please, Alex. Tell me.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you to show me the respect I deserve.” Unwaveringly, I hold his gaze. “If you can’t give me freedom, at least treat me like an equal in this.”
He works his jaw from side to side. “I’m protecting you.”
“You’re not protecting me by cutting me out of parts of your life. You’re keeping me ignorant.”
A spark flashes in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to go down this road? There’s no returning from this, Katerina.”
I swallow. “I’ve already come to that conclusion.”
Silence.
“Don’t you believe I deserve your respect?” I ask softly.
“Fine.” He takes a step forward, putting us so close that our knees touch. His eyes gleam as he stares down at me. “If you want enlightenment, that’s what you’ll get. Just remember, your judgment won’t change a thing.” Placing emphasis on the words, he says, “You’re staying.”
I’ve already come to that conclusion too.
A beat passes. When I don’t take the opportunity he offers to back out, he gives a resigned nod. “The tattoo you recognized belongs to a gang that operates from a shady district in St. Petersburg,” he says.
My mouth goes dry. “You went there.”
“Yes,” he replies in a level tone.
Our fingers brush as he takes the glass from my hand. I wait quietly for him to continue, unable to look away from his face as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a generous swallow of the liquor.
After another sip, he still says nothing, so I ask, “What did you find?”
Hardness fills his eyes. “The man who attacked you.”
My heart thumps with loud beats. “He’s here, in Russia? What did he say?”
Alex clenches his jaw. “That Vladimir Stefanov hired him for the job.”
“To snatch me?” I still find it hard to believe that someone was planning to abduct me just a few blocks from where I work. Well, where I used to work. “Who is Vladimir Stefanov?”
He hands the glass back to me. “One of the bratva bosses who runs the underworld here.”
I drink on autopilot, needing the fortification of the alcohol. “Why?”
“I have no idea.” Muscles bunch in his temples. “But I’m working on rectifying that.”
A mafia boss wants Alex dead. This is bad, much worse than the rival he imagined. I don’t have first-hand knowledge of mafia workings, but I’ve read enough articles to know you don’t want to get on the Russian mob’s bad side.
I swallow hard. “Where is he now, this man you interrogated?”
“Dead,” he says without batting an eye.
Dead.
The word refuses to register. I’m unable to process it. I stare up at his strong, masculine features as the truth I begged him for wars with denial in my chest.
He regards me with a mocking smile, wordlessly daring me to give sound to the thought in my head. That smile says he expected my judgment, and even so, he has no regrets. He’s not sorry for what he’s done.
“Say it, Katyusha,” he says with narrowed eyes, his tone dangerous despite the endearment.
“You…” My voice is hoarse. I’m breathless with the realization.
“Killed him,” he says, finishing what I’m unable to say.
My shock is palpable. It’s charcoal black, a smoky odor that hangs in the air over the embers of the dead fire. My boyfriend—if that’s what he still is—has killed a man. It’s not the first time either. He’s much too collected for someone who’s committed his debut murder.
“He was a bad guy, Katerina,” he says, a warning sharpening his gaze further.
The words slip from my tongue before I can stop them. “Like you?”
His eyes scrunch in the corners as his smile widens.
I didn’t mean for that to sound like the judgement he so obviously expected from me, but the world I grew up in is a far cry from his. The people from my world have an inborn objection to killing. Not to mention, the oath I took to save lives won’t let me justify taking one.