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Ms. Popov smiled and shoved the plate in my hand.
I shook my head. “Don’t order me around next time. I’m only doing this to make up for last night.”
She just chuckles as I turn to leave the kitchen. Moments later, I unlocked the door to Gianna’s room and walked inside. The clothes she was wearing last night were littered on the floor, and the sound of running water came from the bathroom.
I set the food on her vanity table and sat on the recliner at the end of the room, waiting for her to finish.
Minutes passed before the water stopped running, and she stepped into the room in nothing. She’d tied the towel Ms. Popov had given her over her head and just walked in like that, certainly not expecting anyone to be there.
She screamed when she was me, quickly collecting the blanket on her queen-sized mattress to cover herself. She wasn’t quick enough, though. I’d already seen the bruises and scars on her body, and they weren’t from last night.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” she screamed at the top of her voice.
I shot to my feet, my nostrils flaring as I strode to her and grabbed her arm. “Who did this to you?”
“Did what?” Her eyes dipped to the part of her arm where I was looking, and she flinched away. “That’s nothing. I fell down the stairs.”
“Liar.” I grabbed her again, inspecting every bruise I could see on her skin, every stitch. “Someone hit you. Those bruises and scars are not from a fall.”
Her teary eyes met mine. “Let me go, Maxim.”
I ignored her plea. She was the daughter of one of the most feared men in New York. No one could harm her unless they were his rival or had his permission to do so. The latter seemed more likely. If a rival family had gotten a hold of her, the chances of her surviving would be very slim. “Your father did this, didn’t he?”
Her breathing became ragged. “My father would never hurt me.”
Anger rattled my bones. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe, Maxim,” she retorted, glaring at me as if she’d like nothing more than to rip my throat apart. “You killed my mother. Don’t act like you care about me that much.”
I pulled away from her. My brows quirked, and my pulse raced. “What do you mean I killed your mother?”
“You heard me loud and clear.” She turned away from me, holding her towel to her chest. “Leave, I can’t stand seeing your face right now.”
I wanted to pry until I found out what she meant when she said I killed her mother. Was she merely saying that, or did she mean it? But the emotion in her voice wrecked me from the inside out. She was angry and in pain. I couldn’t push her for answers now.
“I’ll leave, but at least eat something.” I turned around and left the room, trudging down the stairs to the kitchen.
Ms. Popov’s face marred with concern. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll get you something to eat.”
“No, I’m not hungry.” I didn’t need food. What I needed was a drink and explanations. I thought of going to the bar and letting Camilla blow me while I downed a bottle of whiskey, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that, not when I knew Gianna would be sad and alone in her room.
Ms. Popov served me a plate of chicken pasta anyway. She dug the fork into the pasta and motioned for me to eat. “Did you two have a fight?” she asked.
I huffed. A fight would’ve been a lot better than finding out she blamed me for her mother’s death. “I wish it was just that.”
Grabbing a stool by the kitchen island, I sat on it and stared at my food like it was the enemy.
“You two remind me of two young people in love and in denial,” Ms. Popov said, popping her hip against the island.
“Love?” I scoffed. Gianna and I felt a lot of things for each other—betrayal, hate, anger. Love wasn’t one of those things. “We’re not in—”
“I saw the way you looked at her.” She cut me off, giving me a knowing look. “A man does not look at a woman he doesn’t care about in that way.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
