Mikhail looks at me as he takes a sip of his coffee. I stare back at him, not knowing what to say.
Clearly, from the sharp gaze he’s giving me, my final plea yesterday fell on deaf ears and he thinks I’m evil.
What does he consider himself to be, though?
He massacred everyone at Raul’s house.Everyoneexcept me and José.
There were people there who didn’t deserve to die. What qualified their death was their mere presence on the property.
How does he explain that?
In my book, that is evil.
Maybe he doesn’t care.
My gaze drops to his knuckles, and my attention goes right back to all those tattoos. I’m sure now they’re prison tattoos.
He’s killed many over the last few days. Who did he kill to make him ink his conviction on himself?
“Ask me,” he says, startling me.
Confused, I meet his hard gaze.
“What?” I don’t know what I’m supposed to ask him or if I was concentrating so hard on his tattoos that I missed something he said.
“You’re looking at my tats and trying to figure me out. Princess, if you have a question about me, just ask.”
I stare back at him knowing that’s obviously some backhanded trickery to scare me. He knows I’m not going to like any answer he could give. So, I bite back my curiosity and shake my head.
“I don’t have any questions about you,” I lie, and the million questions I have just abouthimgo crazy in my mind.
“No? Last chance to ask me, Malyshka. Don’t you want to know more about my tats? They seem to interest you so much.”
“I’m good, thank you.”
“All right. Case closed. Any other questions?”
I look him over and decide I might try for some basic questions.
“How old are you?”
He smirks. “Twenty-eight.”
I was right about his age. I’d bet he’d look younger too without the fullness of his beard.
“Anything else?” he steeples his fingers on the table and stares deeply at me.
“Where do you work?”
“The family business, Dmitriyev Ltd. Just think of me as the accountant. Anything more?”
That was as basic as I can get. Everything else in my head will get me in trouble.
“No.”
He finishes his coffee while I focus on eating my food. I’m eating way too much, but eating is giving me something to do. It’s myanything-but-looking-at-himthing.
He sets the mug back onto the table and clears his throat.
