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“Has something happened?” I asked innocently, watching her reaction.
I see the uncertainty in her eyes before it disappears. “No, nothing’s happened. I was just curious.”
“Well, I have some things to do today….” I stand, letting her take the hint.
She rises gracefully, seeming unfazed by my rude behavior. “I’m sorry for keeping you. It was really lovely getting to know you better.”
Is that what this was all about? How much did she really get from this short conversation about Killian and his ex? I frown as I follow her to the door, plastering on a smile before she turns back around. “It was really great to get to talk to you as well,” I tell her. “I hope you come by again soon.”
“Of course,” she replies, though we both know that probably won’t happen.
I hold the door open for her, waving as she presses the elevator button. I don’t let it close until the elevator doors do. Pressing my back against the solid wood, I let out a long sigh. Anytime I’m around any of the Italians, I feel like I’m playing a fucking game, and I’ve just about had it. Sienna hadn’t come here just to be nice and get to know me. She’d come digging for information. But why she thought I would know is another question entirely.
Heading towards the kitchen on the lower level, I try to think why she might have really come. From the way she asked about my reasons for marrying Killian, it sounded like she’d been digging for more information about why my father wanted this truce. I knew it had to do with the failing breweries. I was pretty sure the Italians knew it as well, considering part of their agreement was financial backing. So why would Sienna believe there was more to it than that?
And why would Killian not try to explain his past with Blair? He must have guessed the girl had flat out lied about their relationship and how it had ended. But he hadn’t even tried to defend himself. He’d just let me accuse him and assume the worst without batting a fucking eye.
But would I have believed him if he’d tried?
Probably not.
And that’s exactly why he hadn’t tried to defend himself.
Fuck. I lean against the kitchen counter, grabbing an apple from the center. Turning it around in my hands, I remember the way Killian had looked when he’d hunted me down on the sidewalk last night. He’d been furious that I’d gone snooping around his past, but he hadn’t said a damn word to defend himself. Maybe he wanted me to believe Blair’s story to keep me from finding out the truth. He doesn’t really seem the type who’d enjoy being pitied.
But he should have told me. If this marriage is supposed to work, then he should be telling me things about himself and his past. If we were supposed to be partners like Sienna had said, then he had to open up a little.
I toss the apple back into the ceramic bowl, turning away. But why did I even care about being his partner? I didn’t even want to marry the guy, let alone get to know him. This whole situation is confusing, and it’s starting to piss me off.
Making a last-minute decision, I head towards my bedroom to change. If I really wanted to sort this through, then I had to go to the source.
20
KILLIAN
She’s been stuck in my head for over forty-eight hours now, and I was clearly losing my damn mind. Just her name has become an irritation, having me pant over her like some Pavlovian wet dream I just can’t shake. And seeing her in that dress last night hadn’t helped.
I’ve seen her a few times now since the engagement negotiations, but I’d been more focused on pushing her damn buttons than what she really looked like. We were up to our necks with the Russians, and I could only focus on one thing.
Cara fucking Ryan.
The way she stood there last night, unafraid after I ambushed her. She’d met my eye with a threat of her own, daring me to push the loyalty of her father’s men that guarded her. Those onyx eyes had burned like live coals, scorching me from the inside out. Her goody-goody personality should have been a big enough repellent, a reminder of everything I didn’t want again, but no. Turns out, I’m the stupid moth drawn right into her electrical bug trap.
Even now, as I step from the car and head into the warehouse down by the docks, I can’t get her out of my mind. Dante’s team had been able to get at least one Russian in their raid, which my gracious brother had saved to try and make me feel better for missing out on the action. He’s tasked me with getting more information—a distraction I desperately need at the moment.
I’m still pissed off about Cara seeking out Blair. A more logical part of me knows why she did it. She’s a woman. It’s practically in her DNA to be fucking nosy. But that didn’t make me any less furious about her going behind my back.
Niccolo is waiting for me just inside the warehouse after I scan my finger and step inside. His eyes are dark as he takes my jacket, tucking it over his arm. More men are stationed around the warehouse, up on the catwalk, in every corner. Sienna had taken one of the warehouses on the outreaches of the docks and turned it into our own personal torture chambers after realizing how many people we had to shake down to claw our way back to the top. The building had been separated with steel walls, cordoned off with individual cells that could be locked down remotely and completely soundproof so no one outside could hear the screams. Our Russian friend was currently our only prisoner, though this place could hold more than twenty men at a time.
“Would you like backup, sir?” Niccolo asks, following me to the second door that led to the cells.
I let the camera scan my eye before shaking my head. “No, but I want you standing by.” Not because I needed him but because I wanted to make him feel useful.
Sienna and Dante’s men nod at me, their Berettas hanging from their shoulders. I roll up the sleeves of my collared shirt as I wait for another one of the men to open the cell door. Through the slitted window, I could see our friend chained to the metal chair nailed to the floor, and all thoughts of Cara vanished. My mind went into overdrive, all of my focus on the brute in front of me.
Edik Nikitin was a big dude, the chair nearly disappearing behind his broad back and obnoxiously large shoulders. His biceps flexed around the chains. Dark hair had been cropped close to his skull, and I could just make out a tattoo of dice inked onto his scalp just above his right ear.
Ghost-like blue eyes snap up to meet me as I step inside the small, bare room. Sweat gathers along his brow, slipping down his cheek despite the fact we’d dropped the temperature in here by thirty degrees. I’m freezing, but probably not as much as he is. The chains rattle as his body involuntarily shakes, his lips tinged blue.
