Page 4 of Dirty Game

But I'm also intensely aware of him behind me—the way he leans closer when I point to specific transfers, the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional grunt of understanding.

When I finish, silence fills the office like water, threatening to drown me.

"How long have you known?" His breath is warm against my ear.

"Since before I went to bed."

"And you didn't come to me immediately?"

This is it.

This is where I die.

My fingers find the cigarette burns on my left wrist, hidden beneath my watch, pressing into them through the band.

The pain grounds me.

"I needed to be sure. I needed to trace it completely. If I was wrong—" I swallow. "You don't strike me as someone who appreciates incomplete information."

He moves around the chair, into my line of sight, and sets the brass knuckles on the desk with deliberate slowness.

Blood has splattered across his jaw, a constellation of violence I shouldn't find fascinating.

But there's something about the precision of it, the control. This isn't rage. This is business.

"You thought I might blame you." Not a question.

"The thought crossed my mind."

His laugh is dark, unexpected. "Smart girl. Another man might have." He leans against the desk, studying me. "Why tell me at all? You could have kept quiet. Could have hoped I never noticed.”

“And it seems like you already knew about it. You would have noticed. Eventually. And then you'd wonder why I didn'tsay anything." I force myself to meet his eyes, just for a moment. "You haven't hurt me yet. I'd like to keep it that way."

Something shifts in his expression.

For three weeks, I've been furniture to him.

A debt paid, a possession acquired.

But now he's looking at me like he's seeing me for the first time.

Not the payment.

Not the Lombardi daughter.

Me.

"Stand up."

My legs obey before my brain can tell me how much of a bad idea this was.

Standing brings me closer to him, close enough to see that the blood on his shirt is still wet.

I have to tilt my head back to look at him, and I hate how small it makes me feel.

How breakable. Like he could snap me in half without trying, and we both know it.

"Do you know what I was doing before I came in here?" His voice is conversational, like we're discussing the weather.