“I assumed you were a smart woman,” I snap harshly.
Her eyes flash to my face. “W-what?”
“A smart woman would pretend that there’s nothing to see.”
She takes a shuddering breath. “A smart woman would never have come aboard this yacht.”
I smile. “Perhaps not.”
She draws in another labored inhale, then asks, “So it’s true? You’re a… you’re a Bratva don?”
“The kitchen staff talks,” I mutter. “Far too much.”
Jessa gnaws at the inside of her cheek. “That was all they told me.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
She nods fervently. “It’s true. I pieced the rest together myself.”
“Was that before or after you came for me?”
Her breathing is getting heavier. Her fingers keep twitching every few seconds but I doubt she even notices.
“My friend knows where I am,” she blurts out. “I told him I took a job on a boat called The Medusa. I told him I’d call him right after. If anything happens to me, he’ll know where to send the police.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Was that your first time threatening someone?”
“I’d call it more of a warning.”
“Not much difference, when it comes down to it.”
She glances towards the dead body again. She mumbles something under her breath that I don’t manage to catch.
“What was that?” I press, inching closer to her.
“‘The maker of sad stories,’” she repeats, louder this time. “That’s what you told me you were, back on the beach.”
“I don’t lie.”
“You’re honest, but murder is okay?”
“Every man has his principles.”
“Then yours need some serious work,” she spits. “Who was the boy?”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re really asking for more information?”
“He was the man’s son, wasn’t he?” She pushes on as though I haven’t spoken. “You killed the man in front of his own kid.”
“The boy needed a reality check. He will thank me one day.”
She shakes her head in disbelief, in amazement. “How could you be so cruel?”
“There’s no room for kindness in my world.”
“You could make room,” she insists. “It seems like you run this world, anyway.”
I smile. “I’m glad you noticed.”