He taps a finger against his glass, a smile crossing his face and it’s boyish and gentle, taking me by surprise. Suddenly he seems charming and harmless and I squirm uneasily. Apparently Dolokhov is a man of contrasts.
“And does she also love to play with her own life, like you do?” he asks with a raised brow.
Tensing at his words, I murmur, “My friend is a he.”
Just like that, his whole face hardens, his features turning stern, like he just put on an iron mask and I gulp.
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he says dismissively and I put my glass down, knotting my hands in my knees.
“Please you must,” I beg. “His...his name is Trevor Sorkin.”
Something unreadable flares in Dolokhov’s eyes and I take a deep breath.
“And four days ago,” I continue, “he went missing.”
2
Alec
The moment I saw her, standing on my porch, I was overwhelmed byan impulse to grasp her just to see for myself if she is real. There is something too elusive about the young woman in front of me, something undefinable and most importantly...out of my reach.
Too soft while I am too hard. Breakable while I am not.
She is an attractive little thing, can’t be more than a couple of inches over five feet, her body almost too slender for my taste underneath her padded clothes. Her hair is the color of toffee, hanging very long and very straight over her shoulder, her eyes a dark hazel and her complexion reminds me of café au lait.
But her appearance isn’t what draws me to her. Instead it’s that ethereal quality of hers, fragile and waiflike and it tells me that she shuns men like me. Maybe that is why I want her.
Maybe that is why I suddenly feel like I’ll use any means necessary as long as I get to have her, even the immoral ones.
Straightening in my couch, I give a light shrug. “Why are you telling me this?”
Biting her lip, her eyes start darting again. She can’t keep them on me for too long. I know it’s because I rarely blink and it unnerves people. It makes me look less than human and that is also what I am. But anyone would be if they too lived this life for this long.
“Because I think that my friend...T...Trevor, I think he’s been taken by the mob.”
I tense, a sneer covering my face. “What games are you playing, Miss. Andrews?”
Her slender shoulders start trembling. “I know what it sounds like but hear me out.” Her words come rushing, like she’s scared I will cut her off, send her away and refuse her my help. “Trevor works as a boxing referee and he’s never told this to me straight out but I know he’s been involved with the Italian mafia.”
She moves as if about to get out of her seat, but then she leans back again. “And I think it’s them who took him. I think he got into some kind of trouble and they wanted to make him pay. So, they kidnapped him, maybe even killed him by now...”
Interrupting herself she frantically shakes her head. “No, not killed him. He’s probably still alive, he must be.”
“What exactly do you want me to do about this?”
Wincing she says, “Isn’t it obvious? I know you’re the head of the Russian brotherhood, I know that if anyone could find him and extract him from the Italian’s it’s you.”
Her voice is full of hope, full of childish optimism and I stare at her for a moment before I throw my head back and let out a roaring laughter.
Lyla gasps a disappointed whimper at the sound, looking at me with her round eyes like she’s witnessing something dark and distorted take form in front of her. What a naïve, little girl. She thinks everyone is as nice and harmless and she is. Even dirty, ugly mobsters.
I drag a breath, smiling at her. “You know nothing of me,” I tell her gently, “if you did you would know that I would never risk my affairs with the Italian’s over some little shithead who is too dumb to look after himself.”
Flinching, she looks at me with disproval. “But he could be hurt, left to rot in a ditch somewhere...you have to do something.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” I remind her in a low, dangerous voice and she bites her lip, like she just remembered who she’s talking to.
“Please,” she says softly, “please, just show some mercy.” She clasps her hands in a begging gesture and a flare of possessiveness spreads in my chest. I’m tempted to give up all I have just to one day have her care so much about me, that she would beg formethat way.