Page 43 of Merciless Daddy

I turned. He stood with one shoulder against the frame, his tie loosened, phone in one hand. The fresh closure on his cheek looked almost white against his skin.

“You had me watched.”

“Of course. It’s my business.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“Before the restaurant.”

“Yes.”

I laughed. It sounded wrong in the room. “Of course. The questions. The manifest. The little conversation in the corridor. Did you plan that too?”

“No.”

“But you planned me. To snatch me? To take me away from my wedding.”

His gaze did not leave mine. “No. Not at first. To begin with, I planned the investigation.”

“I want to know more.”

His jaw tightened.

“To begin with, you were the seam in the alliance,” he said. “The person most likely to know what Gianni was moving and where he was hiding it.”

“An asset.”

“Yes.”

The honesty hurt worse than a lie.

I picked up the glass of whisky from the desk. It smelled like smoke and wood. I drank it anyway. It burned all the way down.

“You and Gianni should compare notes. He calls me ptichka. You call me a seam. Different cages. Same animal.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make us the same.”

I took another drink. “Your family produces murderers and accountants. Forgive me if the distinctions blur.”

“Gianni is not my family.”

“He shares your blood.”

“I don’t care. After what he did to his own father, he’s no cousin of mine. He’s a murderer.”

The glass stopped halfway to my mouth.

I set it down hard enough that whisky jumped over my hand. Then I crossed the room until I stood in front of him. He had to look down at me. I hated that I wanted the angle of it. Hated that I remembered the heat of his thigh between mine while I fixed his face.

“He’s a murdered, but you’re a thief. You stole me,” I said.

“I saved you. Rescued you.”