“No, I’m not. Move slow.”
He obeyed, picked up his gun gently, and pushed it back into his waistband. The barrel never drifted in my direction. When the gun was put away, he slipped past me and headed back down the hall.
“Remember what I said. Kill the girl and end this stupid farce.”
“When I’m ready.” He opened the door and stepped outside. “Oh, and German? If you come into my house without knocking first again, I will shoot you next time.”
German only nodded once and shut the door behind him.
I locked the top bolt then looked over at the stairs.
“You can come down now.”
Fiona poked her head around the corner, her eyes wide. “How’d you know I was there?”
“You breathe too loud. You’re lucky German thought I had a guest here already.”
She padded down the steps in her bare feet. “Why do they want me dead so badly?” she asked. “I don’t understand what I did to the Morozov family.”
“I don’t either, but I have some guesses. Could be related to your brother, or maybe the Pakhan’s going to move against the Doyles.”
“I thought there was a citywide truce? I mean, I know the Lionettis are having their little civil war, but still?”
“Truces only matter if the people involved aren’t a bunch of power-hungry, blood-thirsty psychopaths.” I sighed and finally put my gun away. “Come on, I’ll make you something to eat.”
“You cook?” She blinked rapidly and shook her head.
“Only for you, princess.” I put my hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the kitchen. “I hope you like traditional Russian beet stew.”
She made a face. “Are you serious?”
“Of course not. Sit down, I’ll make you some pasta.”
She sighed, but she listened, and kicked her feet up on the chair next to her. She watched as I bustled around the kitchen, rustling up a meal from my meager groceries. I’d have to go shopping soon.
It was strange, feeling this domestic urge to take care of her. I’d never experienced this before in all my time living here. Women came and went, but I never gave a shit if they were hungry or tired or whatever, so long as I got what I wanted from them and they left without a fight.
With Fiona though, it was different.
I wanted to spoil her. I wanted to dote on her like a love-obsessed puppy.
It felt good, and it was disgusting.
But at least I knew she’d give me what I wanted, sooner or later—no matter how much she pretended, how much she resisted, her lips told me the truth, and her pussy was all the convincing I needed.
She was mine. Only she didn’t realize it yet.
6
Fiona
I slept fitfully, caught somewhere between waking and dreaming.
It was like he stood at the end of my bed, watching me all night. I’d open my eyes—but he’d be gone.
There was some part of me that was terrified he’d sneak into my room and do something terrible to me while I slept.
And another part that wanted exactly that.
So I drifted between the two, suspended in perpetual anxiety until the morning sun spilled through the blinds. I got up, rinsed off in the shower—he had clean towels in the closet, which was shocking, I didn’t think hitmen were the type to have extra clean towels—then put on my same clothes.
Downstairs, I made coffee, then rifled through all his drawers.
It wasn’t like I was snooping—well, okay, I was snooping. His kitchen seemed normal and was filled with regular kitchen stuff, although he didn’t have much food in the refrigerator. I moved on to the living room and found mostly junk in the junk drawers. Nothing in the hallway table, nothing in the powder room, nothing under the sink or down in the basement except for an ancient water heater and the furnace.
His house was shockingly boring.
There were no personal items or pictures. I didn’t know anything about this guy—where he was from, who he was friends with, what his parents were like, nothing. That set me on edge a bit, and I hoped I might find out something by looking around at his things.
With most people, their personality existed in the objects they surrounded themselves with. Their living space was a reflection of their brain, mostly.
Except with him, there was nothing, only a blank slate. I didn’t know what that meant.
I sat back down at the kitchen table and drank coffee. He came downstairs a little while later wearing a pair of gym shorts and nothing else. I stared at his muscular body and the tattoos covering his skin and wondered what I did to deserve any of this.
It would’ve been so easy if he weren’t so freaking gorgeous.
“Morning,” he said, sipping his coffee and leaning up against the island.
“Morning.” I spun my phone on the table. “I have a shift later today.”