“Don’t be mean to your sister. She’s so nice.” Max links hands with Nicolette.
Ivan slaps Lev’s shoulder, pulling him close and mutters something in Russian before letting him go. Lev’s frown deepens as he responds.
“What did you say to him?” I ask Ivan when we’re alone.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” The crowd seems to feel his presence, clearing a path for us as we make our way to the exit.
His car pulls up to the curb as soon as we step outside. It’s like the whole world revolves around him. The valet opens theback door for me, and Ivan walks around to the other side. Once my door is shut, we pull away from the club and into traffic.
Ten minutes later, I lean forward to see out the front window. We’ve made too many turns, to be going in the right direction.
“This isn’t the way to my place.”
Ivan pulls me back. “I said we’re going home.”
“Right…and this isn’t the way.”
The car goes quiet. He continues to hold my hand, running his thumb along my knuckles, but there’s a heaviness in the air.
“Ivan? What’s going on?” I finally ask when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything more.
My heart skitters when he turns to me. He wets his lips, straightens his back.
“Who is Declan O’Brien?”
“Leave us.” Ivan barks the order as soon as we step into the foyer of his penthouse.
Three men sitting in the living room just off the main entrance drop the cards they were playing onto the coffee table and get up from the couches. As they file out the front door, they mutter something to Ivan and wait for a nod from him before stepping out into the hall.
“Are you going to let me explain or have you already decided you’re going to be mad?” I stand in the foyer while he steps into the living room.
As soon as he registered the look on my face at the name Declan O’Brien, he turned away from me. He’s been coldly quiet since.
When I tried to answer, he squeezed my hand and put his own hand up to still me. I assumed he didn’t want the driver to hear our conversation, but even in the elevator up to his ivory tower, he wouldn’t let me speak.
“Do you want an answer or not?” I ask moving into the living room with him.
He stalks to the wet bar in the corner of the room, snapping up a crystal decanter and pulling off the finial. The robust sound of the whiskey pouring into his glass is the only sound in the room.
It’s unnerving how loud silence can be while you’re waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall.
He downs the contents, then refills, before he finally turns to me.
“I do, Vee. I want to know everything.” He settles into a sleek, high-backed, dark leather chair, balancing his glass on his knee.
From his pocket, he pulls out a pair of spiked brass knuckles and places it on the thick, rolled arm of the chair.
“And you’ll listen?” I can’t help but stare at the weapon resting so casually on the arm of his chair.
He nods slowly. “I want to hear everything you have to say, and once you’re in the correct position you can begin.”
“Correct position?” I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry and tight.
“Yes.” He gestures to the spot on the carpet just in front of him.
“Come here. On your knees, legs spread and your hands resting on your thighs. Once you’re in position, I’ll listen to everything you have to say.”
A flicker of fear sparks low in my belly– but it’s tangled up with anticipation. Excitement curls around the edges of doubt and holds it at bay. I’m not sure if I can do this, but to berewarded with his pleasure, to hear the words that spring life into my soul, I can try.
