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I shake my head.
“That’s okay. Should have something open. The back alright?”
“The back is perfect.” I clasp my hand with Silver’s.
As we’re seated and brought bread, I can’t help but bother him. I’m playing footsie under the table,andtapping the soft of his fingers with my nail.
“Must you?” he growls.
“Mhm.” I nod haughtily. “Wanna know why?”
“Hm?”
“You’re not going tomorrow, Silver.” I lean in close. “You’re not leaving me.”
“We can’t stay in hiding forever, Harley.” He smirks sadly at me, and I want to choke him all over again for giving me that nickname. “The time’s come to give you two a safe path back to your old lives. I told you once—there’s no other way to grant you two freedom but to give myself up. Otherwise, the bratva will always be after you.” He squeezes my hand. “Let’s not talk about that. You dragged me all the way here and made me get dressed up—”
“You’re always dressed up.” I hold back tears as we both laugh at the obvious. Biting my lip helps distract from crying.
“I suppose that’s true. And look at you. You finally listened to my dress for success lecture.” He smiles, bringing it back to the first time I wound up in his stage house.
“My animal socks got me to my first promotion, I’ll have you know.” I frame my face in victory.
“What, did you put on a puppet show?”
“No.”I chuckle. “They’re good luck. That’s why I wear them. And, well, because they’re warm and cozy.”
“Well then, I guess this is where your luck runs out.” He points under the table, to the Louboutins covering my bare feet.
“Nuh uh.” I point to my earrings that have little paw prints on them.
“The hell? I didn’t buy you those.”
“They were in my pocket when the Russians kidnapped me,” I say.
“Then they can’t be that lucky.”
“What are you saying, Silver? You were literally the ghost that saved me.” I squeeze his hand. “These animal prints, whether on my feet or on my ears, brought you.”
“Jesus. Next, you’re going to tell me you believe in crystals—”
“What if I do?” I make a wide-eyed crazy face at him. “Just kidding. Animal accessories are the extent of my superstition. What about you? Have any weird habits that keep you sane?”
He looks to the table as if I struck a nerve.
Then I realize it probably has to do with his past.
“Oh, sorry, Silver, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s alright, kid.”
“We don’t have to talk about any of that.” My lips fold into a line. I’m embarrassed.
“I want to.” The words shock me stiff. “If you’ll hear me.”
“Of course.” Sirens are going off in my head. Is this old mafia hitman about to actually open up to me?
“It’s not a pleasant story,” he warns.