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“It’s still in the black box. I want them wondering. Looking.”

I glance up to see him staring at me in an oval mirror on the wall in front of us. I stare back. I think about that hidden tracker in his pocket, how easy it would be to remove it from the blocker and let them see where we are again. I think about the dead body in the alley and the quiet message he sent to get rid of it. I think about whoever sent him.

“Do you think they got rid of that body?” I ask. “Did you see it firsthand, or do you really just trust that they would?”

“Valentina,” he says quietly. “I went to jail for my family. I would kill for them. Die for them. So yeah, when they give me a contact, I trust them.”

I think about the event, the kind of people who attend, the kind of money that fills a room like that. I think about what it would mean to die for another person.

“Stand up.” His voice is a hard crack of a whip. “We don't have time for a proper lesson.”

I want to snap back and tell him I don't know what that means. Make him say it. But right now, I don't trust my voice because I remember what he did last night, and so does my body. I know exactly what kind of lesson he would teach.

I swallow hard and ignore the lump in my throat. Noted.

“Right. So the best way to incapacitate a man,” he continues, “is to get him straight in the bollocks. A two-finger snap will do.”

“Um. Bollocks?”

“Aye, lass.” He spreads his legs and gestures. “Here, right here. You don't know where the bollocks are?”

“Oh.” I snicker. “We call those balls.”

He snorts. “Forgot about that. Go ahead. Let me see what you would do.”

He wants to see how I would hit somebody in the balls? Risky, but okay, then. I lean back and swing. He catches my wrist halfway.

“You'll have to be more sly than that.”

I nod. “Okay, if you think—” I swing without warning and almost catch him right between the legs. He moves at the last second, deflecting.

“Christ, that was close.”

“Would that really make you incapacitated?”

He grimaces. “You'd be surprised.”

I nod and smile sweetly. I don't want him to be too sure I wouldn’t try it.

“Next,” he says, still eyeing me warily. “If someone tries to take you, go limp. Deadweight’s a fuck of a lot harder to move. Impossible if they're out of shape.”

Impossible if there are four of them. I ought to know.

I can still feel their hands on me, the bag over my head, the lack of oxygen. My screams swallowed whole in black fabric.

I nod, my heart beating faster. “Okay.”

Pausing, he leans in close and grabs my chin with his finger and thumb, turning my gaze up to his. “Where did you go just now? I said something, and you sort of… glazed over.”

I swallow. “I can't help it. Sometimes I'm… I don't know. Triggered? I hate that word, but I’m not sure what else to call it.”

He runs his thumb over my cheek. “I know. I get that too.”

Then he does the last thing I expect. His eyes hold mine. I know the second before he leans in that he’s going to kiss me. His lips touch mine, and I lean into him. My hands find purchase on his shoulders, and his on my waist. Too soon, he pulls away.

“I promise you, Valentina. There will be justice if it's the last thing I ever do.”

I nod. “I believe you.” I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but I have more faith in him getting revenge than my own family.