“Tell me now before we go in there—did you know?” he demands, brows down.
I shake my head, tears spearing my eyes. “I swear to God I didn’t.”
Dima searches my face for a moment then gives a nod. “If you’re telling the truth, you’ll be all right.” His thumb lightly strokes over my pulse, sending tingles of awareness everywhere. “Ravil’s not a monster. Just go in there and answer his questions honestly.”
A ridiculous snort-sniff sound comes out of me as I try to stifle my sobs, and I turn away to hide my embarrassment.
He’s being kind—I should be grateful. This is the Dima I thought I knew. But I can’t get over the threat he made back in his car.
He dies—you die.
He meant it. I saw the threat in his icy gaze.
So I’m not sure I believe I’m going to walk out of this meeting safely.
Dima grasps my nape again and steers me down the hall. Ravil and Maxim are standing in the reception area of the veterinarian clinic. It’s a pleasant reception area. The walls are painted a muted teal, the concrete floors are stained purple, and the furniture has modern simplicity.
“Have a seat.” Ravil points to one of the chairs. As I settle into it, he turns a chair around backward and straddles it facing me, resting his forearms on the back. Dima and Maxim flank him with their chairs. The Spanish Inquisition.
Well, at least they don’t have pliers out to pull off my fingernails. Yet. Still, I can’t stop shivering.
It doesn’t help that Ravil says nothing for a moment, just considers me. Finally, he asks, “Why were you at my game?”
I will myself not to cry and draw a breath. “Alex wanted to go. He was my date.” When Ravil says nothing, I stumble on. “I met him at the gym last month, and he asked me out. He’s, um, Russian, also. Or half-Russian.” I lick my lips, darting a glance at Maxim then back to Ravil. “We’ve been out a couple times—nothing serious.” I resist changing my gaze to Dima when I say that part.
“When he found out where I lived, he seemed sort of excited. He’d heard of you guys. He knew Ravil’s name, even.”
No way, he’d gushed. You live in the Kremlin? Do you know that’s owned by the Russian mafiya?
My face flames hot as I realize how I was played. How stupid I was. I thought he was genuinely interested in me, and I let myself get used.
“I don’t know, he acted like he was sort of a fan-boy of the bratva. Like he wanted to join as a Russian heritage thing. He wanted an introduction. I wasn’t super comfortable with that. Then he told me he heard you guys had a card game every Friday and asked if I could get him in. I wasn’t sure about that, either, but I thought maybe I could go and bring him along.”
Nothing shows on Ravil’s face, but I sense his judgment of me. “And you told Dima all this when you asked to go?”
I swallow. Fuck.
This looks bad for me. Really bad.
“No,” I choke. I scrape off the fingernail polish on my thumbnail with frantic movements. “I, um… he… I don’t know why I didn’t tell him about Alex.”
Ravil cocks a brow like he doesn’t believe me.
My stomach churns. I don’t dare look at Dima, but I feel the weight of his glare.
When I don’t say anything more, Ravil prompts, “That’s not good enough, Natasha.”
A tear escapes my right eye and slides down my cheek. I duck my head to hide it, switching my anxious scraping to the other thumbnail. “It just felt awkward, I guess.”
“Awkward,” Ravil echoes, doubt tinging his tone.
I don’t want to explain the stupidity of it all. How I wanted Dima to ask me out. How talking about another guy wasn’t going to help that lost cause. Ugh, and on some level, maybe I hoped showing up with a guy who was interested in me would make him jealous. Give him the push he needed.
But all of that seems trivial now. This wasn’t about my dating life. It was about a federal agent infiltrating the bratva, and I abetted him. And in the process, Dima’s twin got shot. Something he’ll never forgive me for.
So yeah, the chances of him asking me out now or in the future are nil.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, my voice scratchy with tears.
Ravil gives it another moment of excruciating silence before he says, “I am disappointed, Natasha. I consider you and your mother to be family. You were under my protection. This feels like a violation of trust.”
I drag in a hiccuping sob and hold it, trying not to burst into tears. “I know.” I bob my head. "I'm sorry," I repeat.
“You knew nothing about him being an FBI agent?”