Someone has the police on their payroll.
I peer over at where Emilio slept, but he is now gone.
Is my husband connected to Dr. Oswald’s murder?
No way. There’s no way.
Emilio’s words replay in my head. “I know everything about you.”
The more I learn about my new husband, the more it wouldn’t surprise me if he were responsible. He could’ve easily found the report I’d filed. My complaint, the board meeting I attended, my firing—all of it is on record.
Did he kill for me?
The thought shouldn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but it does.
When I told Uncle Yaroslav and Aleksy about Dr. Oswald, they did nothing. When I was growing up, my mother always said that no one would dare lay a hand on a Morozova woman out of fear of Yaroslav. Turned out, that was nothing but a lie.
I close out of the article and toss my phone on the nightstand. As I slide out of bed, I think about last night in the library. Emilio opened up about his father. From what I’d read online and rumors I’d heard, I knew Nuncio was a bad guy.
But after seeing the pain on Emilio’s face when he talked about his father, I wish he’d come back as a ghost so I could punch him in the face.
Look at me, wanting to protect the hubby I’m supposed to kill.
I shuffle to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair before stopping by my old bedroom—is that what I should call it?After changing into leggings and a red tank, I walk downstairs.
My plan today is to pick Maggie’s brain.
To learn more about my husband.
She’s in the kitchen, squeezing oranges into fresh juice when I walk in.
“Good morning, Liliya,” she greets. “What would you like for breakfast?” She offers me a hopeful smile that I’ll actually eat today.
The turkey sandwich Emilio forced me to eat is all I’ve had in days.
I know I need to eat, but my nerves find food as appetizing as maggots at the moment.
My cheeks burn red at the reminder of what he did before forcing me to eat that damn sandwich.
His facial hair against my wet thighs.
His tongueinside me.
I shudder, squeezing my legs together.
When my gaze flicks back to Maggie, she’s staring at me curiously.
I shake my head, snapping myself out of it.
Resting my elbows on the counter, I lean toward her. “Will you talk to me while I eat?”
“Of course.” She perks up, pushing the juicer aside to give me her full attention. “What would you like?”
“What’s your favorite breakfast?” I release one elbow and tap the counter. “I want you to eat with me.”
Her brown eyes soften. “If it gets you to eat, I’ll share a meal with you every day, honey.”
I grin, understanding why Emilio’s mother and sister loved her so much.
