over my shoulder, lifting up my chin. “What business is it of yours? You’re not my husband.”
Something shifted in his expression. “No, I’m not. You appear to be out of husbands these days.”
“Thanks to you,” I snapped.
“Your husband...” Konstantin’s attention grew more intense. “The key. We still haven’t found it. We have torn apart the Falcone mansion, and still it remains hidden.”
“Not my problem.”
Konstantin leaned closer, capturing all my attention. The smell of him was overwhelming. “Oh, Elena,” he caressed my name in his mouth, as intimate as a lover, “I think it will be.”
He has no idea, I thought to myself.
“Thaddeo didn’t tell me anything. Including where he kept his precious items.”
“You see, you keep saying that, Elena, but each time you do...” Konstantin’s finger reached out, stroking my cheek ever so gently. “I see the lie in your eyes. The secrets.”
I swallowed. “There are no secrets in my eyes.”
A slow smile it up his face. There was nothing charming or friendly about it—it was the smile of a cat who had caught a mouse by the tail. “And you pride yourself on honesty,” he murmured.
“And survival,” I retorted. “I pride myself on honesty and survival.”
“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Key or no.” Konstantin’s finger dropped from my cheek, catching strands of my hair before pulling away. “Is that why you won’t say? You fear for your life.” Anger flashed over his face, warping his features momentarily.
Thaddeo’s eyes flashed in my mind, his hand reaching out and bruising my skin. The pain had been like nothing I had ever felt before it. It had followed me day and night, to doctor appointments and the chiropractor—
“Elena?” Konstantin’s voice disrupted the memories. His hand came up, cupping my cheek. I couldn’t move away, couldn’t resist the comforting warmth. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
The soft fury to his voice reminded me who he was. He wasn’t some charming gentleman who listened to my opinions and valued my intellect, who laughed at my sarcastic remarks. He was the Pakhan of the Tarkhanov Bratva, the man who killed his father with his own necktie before he turned sixteen.
I pulled back, his hand dropping. My heart cried out at the loss of contact, but I ignored it.
“I won’t say because I don’t know where your precious key is,” I snapped. “Bother someone else.”
His eyes scanned my face. “That key is more important than you know,” he warned. “If someone gets their hands on it before us, they could cause a lot of danger.”
I met his eyes. “I don’t care.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “No. Of course you don’t.” His head cocked slightly to the side. “You don’t care about a lot, do you, my Elena?”
I opened my mouth, ready to snap back at being his, when a soft little voice spoke out, “Auntie Lena? Uncle Kostya?”
We both turned, startled, to see little Anton standing a few meters away from us. He was dressed for bed, his hair ruffled and his teddy bear hanging limply from his hand. Sitting by his ankles, annoyed and pissed, was Babushka.
“Anton,” Konstantin turned his attention to his nephew. “What are you doing awake?”
Anton rubbed his eyes. “Monsters,” he grumbled.
“Ah, of course,” Konstantin agreed. “Is your mama or daddy awake?”
He shook his head.
“How about we go back to sleep, yes?” Konstantin rose to his feet. He glanced at me to say this conversation isn’t over.
Yes, it is, I glared back.
He gestured to his nephew. “Come on, Anton. I’ll tuck you in.”
Anton’s bright blue eyes peered at me. “Auntie Lena?”
“Auntie Lena is working,” Konstantin reasoned.
His chubby cheeks puckered in fury. “Auntie Lena, please.” He stretched out a little hand, wiggling his fingers. “Story?”
I pursed my lips, ignoring Konstantin’s eyes on me. “Of course. One story.” It was the least I could do for this little boy.
Anton stretched his arms up for Konstantin, who scooped him up easily. He laid his head on the Pakhan’s chest, his dark hair contrasting like crow feathers against Konstantin’s white button down.
I followed them out of the library, only to have Anton stretch out a hand.
“Do you want to hold Auntie Lena’s hand?” Konstantin shot me a look, eyebrows raised. Are you really going to deny the sleepy toddler? he asked.
I shot him a glare. Of course not. “Here you go.” I held his hand gently. Anton’s grip tightened, not willing to let me and the chance of his bedtime story slip away.