Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
My vision was going dark at the edges. I could feel my lips starting to twitch as my body’s need to breathe overwhelmed my brain. Any second, I was going to inhale and suck down a lungful of water.
Then I heard Gennadiy speak, and there was something different in his voice, a rawness I’d never heard before, like he’d been sliced open right down to the soul. “Emanuela? Look into my eyes.”
I felt Emanuela twist behind me as she turned to look. The world went dark, and I felt water fill my mouth.
Emanuela let go. I erupted upwards, spitting out water, and sucked in a huge lungful of sweet, sweet air. Light rushed back into the world, but my brain was still oxygen-starved. I staggered sideways and would have fallen if Gennadiy hadn’t grabbed my waist. I heaved in breath after shuddering breath and tried to take in what was happening. Gennadiy had a terrified Emanuela pinned up against the table with his body, one arm pressing his gun to her temple while the other held me. His expression was beyond frightening, beyond anything I’d seen before. “Now answer the question!” he roared at Emanuela. “Did you put a hit out on her? Was it you?” I saw his finger tense on the trigger.
“No,” said Emanuela desperately. “I didn’t order her killed.”
“Why should I believe you?” demanded Gennadiy.
“Because maybe I’d kill her,” Emanuela said in a small voice. “But I wouldn’t put you in jail. I’d want you here.” Her voice cracked. “With me.” In that moment, all the theatrics fell away, and underneath there was loneliness. And longing.
My stomach flipped. I hated her even more, now. But I believed her.
Gennadiy let her go and holstered his gun. Emanuela stumbled away and watched us with big, scared eyes, silent for once. Gennadiy grabbed my hand and led me out of the room, pushing past the bodyguards.
I looked back over my shoulder at Emanuela. “You and her really…?”
Gennadiy winced. “A long time ago. I was young and stupid. I didn’t realize she still…” he shook his head ruefully.
I got one last look at Emanuela before we turned the corner. I hated her, but there was a pang of pity, too. What the hell happened to her, to make her like that?
As soon as it felt like we were a safe distance away, Gennadiy stopped, took my other hand, and turned me to face him. “You’re okay?” he asked.
The emotion in his voice made my throat close up. Then he brushed my wet hair back from my face, and it really closed up. I knew I was a mess: make-up ruined, hair a dripping swamp. But he was looking at me like I was the most valuable thing in the world. I nodded, not trusting my voice. And replayed what had just happened.
Look into my eyes, he’d told Emanuela. What had she seen there? Something that had convinced her that Gennadiy would risk everything to save me.
Which meant…when he told Emanuela he had no feelings for me, he was lying, to protect me from her. Or from himself. The fragile, silvery excitement that had been crushed when he told me the kiss was a mistake began to tentatively unfurl. I swallowed and stared up at him.
Gennadiy looked away, scowling. “Come on.”
We walked back through the restaurant. A worried Yakov ran over to us. “Chyort,” he cursed when he saw me. “What did that crazy suka do to you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I was stuck out here.”
“I’m fine,” I told him.
“Emanuela didn’t order the hit,” Gennadiy told Yakov. “Thank you for coming along.” He and Yakov embraced, and then he took me back to his car. We drove to his mansion in silence, water dripping down the back of my neck as I tried to process everything. He did feel things for me. Which meant the kiss hadn’t been a mistake. So why was he pushing me away?
At Gennadiy’s mansion, I changed back into jeans, a blouse, and ankle boots and fixed my face. By the time I was done, Gennadiy had rounded up his family, and we gathered again in the dining room.
“It wasn’t Emanuela,” said Gennadiy. “So it was the Irish. Finn O'Donnell. He’s the only other person Alison was investigating.”
“That’s not good,” muttered Mikhail. Radimir cursed in Russian. His wife, Bronwyn, was sitting beside him, and he pulled her a little closer. Only Valentin was silent.
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“We confront the Irish.” Gennadiy said viciously. “Ask Finn what the fuck he’s playing at. And we show up ready for war.”
The anger in his voice made my stomach knot. He was spiraling downwards: more brutal, more violent, and that path only ended in one way.
The family geared up, grim-faced. Valentin slid vicious-looking knives into scabbards under his long, black coat. Mikhail opened the doors of his big, black SUV and pointed, and the dogs obediently jumped in. He’s taking his dogs? What if they get hurt?