Page 7

On the street, he would blend right in, but here, between the tactical gear, guns, and suits, he stood out. With the secrets spilled, the raven-haired guy found comfort on the opposite sofa. The second his ass hit the cushion, he gawked at me.
And I stared right back.
Never lower your gaze. It’s a sign of submission and weakness.The notes I collected reminded me.
No one spoke for what felt like a while. I studied the room from corner to corner, noting every detail. Comfortable in the silence, Ilya got up, heading to the bar tucked in the corner. He poured amber liquid over ice, the faint clinking filling the room. Not offering us any, he returned to his spot. The first sip drew a deliberate sigh of delight, and only when the glass emptied did he finally speak.
“I want you to work for me.”
His words hit me like a slap, shock flashing across my face before I could stop it. My attempt to erase the emotion came too late; they noticed. Like hawks, their heads tilted, their blinks too far apart.
“What could I possibly help you with? I told you, I’m not interested in joining the Bratva,” I replied, forcing the bubble in my throat down.
“What’s your name?” The other man’s voice cut in, his heavy accent sharpening the question. I focused on him, mimicking his expression.
“What’s yours?” I shot back.
“Malek.”
“Taya.”
One for one, in a fair trade.
“Your full name?” Malek pressed, his voice firm.
“That’s all you’ll be getting. Nothing more.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Ilya’s mouth, a shadow of approval that felt more like amusement. “You’re cautious. Good. You’ll need that if you’re going to survive.”
“Are you American?” Malek cut in again, his accent even thicker now, like he wanted the question to land differently. His gaze lingered, sharp and deliberate, as if he were picking apart my answers before I’d even given them.
I turned my head to the window, watching the guards outside as they moved across the ground. Some of them stayed behind, forming a line on the lawn. Their shadows cast darkness into the room, silhouettes forming against the back walls. A silent threat.
Hisprotection wasmywarning.
I smiled at the thought. Somewhere deep down, a string of pride awoke, braiding into the mix.
When I faced the room again, Malek still awaited confirmation.
Information is power.
I owed them no answers. Unless they wanted to try torture, all I’d feed them were crumbs.
Either they recognized my resolve or decided not to waste their time because they accepted the silence and moved on.
“Fair enough. Look, Taya, I saw you today, and I assume this was your first kill.” Ilya nodded slightly, as if confirming his own words. “Thinking back to my first, believe me, it was nowhere near this calculated. By now, I expected you to be retching on the floor.”
Malek let out a quiet hum, his eyes narrowing. “She’s not. That says something, doesn’t it?” His tone carried a weight, as if he was storing the observation for later.
The thought of retching hadn’t even crossed my mind. I should feel remorse for killing a man, disgust at how easy it was to take a life. I should fear what I’m capable of. Reaching deep inside, I felt… empty. Unmoved, as if the gun never fired.
What did that make me?
Their words registered as a compliment in my mind. The corner of my lips lifted briefly before I schooled my expression back to indifference. “Umm, thanks. I guess.”
“This life isn’t for everybody. I get it. But I don’t think you would’ve done all that if you weren’t curious.”
Is he referring to…? Angry that I didn’t notice anyone on my tail, I spat, “Have you been following me?”