Chapter 22
Anton
Idon’t like how good she looks.
Pizdets! The fact that I’m noticing pisses me off more than it should.
She’s prettier than she was this morning, sprawled unconscious on my couch in blood-stained clothes.
She must’ve splashed water on her face, maybe rinsed out her mouth.
Her skin looks fresher, scrubbed clean. Her hair’s still damp at the ends, no longer a tangled mess, and she’s pushed it back, so it falls in soft waves around her shoulders.
My gaze drags down before I can stop it: jaw, neck, the line of her collarbone.
My balls tighten, like my body’s a second too slow catching up to the fact that I’m staring.
Maybe it’s the way that sweater hugs her waist and pushes her tits up, making her look like she actually has a figure instead of drowning in my oversized shirt.
Maybe it’s that the clothes fit her as if they were made for her body, transforming her from a terrified bank clerk into something that belongs in my world.
Her eyes are still glassy, lashes clumped together, and it pisses me off that the vulnerability makes me want to touch her face.
She catches me staring and shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement pushes her breasts higher, and I force myself to look away before I do something stupid.
Lev settles into the chair beside me, close enough that I can smell the cigarettes on his jacket. He’s watching me watch her, and when I glance sideways, the bastard has the audacity to smirk.
“Blyat,” I mutter under my breath.
“Problem, bratishka?” Lev asks, voice all innocence, while his eyes slide back to Mary like she’s a piece of art he’s appraising.
Then he does it: lets out a low whistle that sounds like every construction worker catcall ever made. The kind of sound that makes women clutch their purses tighter and cross streets.
Mary’s face flushes red. She tugs the sweater down, trying to cover more of herself, which only makes the fabric stretch tighter across her chest.
Lev grins wider, enjoying both the view and my barely controlled reaction to it.
The urge to put a bullet between his eyes hits me like a sucker punch to the gut, which is fucking ridiculous because I shouldn’t give a shit who looks at her. She’s an asset. A means to an end.
But watching Lev eye-fuck her like she’s dessert and he’s been on a diet for months makes my trigger finger itch.
Boris looks smug as hell, like he just won some kind of makeover contest. “Told you they’d fit.”
“Perfect fucking fit,” Lev adds, still grinning. “Very… comprehensive shopping, Boris.”
Suka, I need this bastard out of my sight before I do something that compromises the operation.
“Lev,” I bark. “Go check if the food’s here.”
He blinks, all fake confusion. “But we just—”
“The food. Is it here? Go check.”
“Anton, we literally just finished eating Chinese—”
“The better food I ordered for her.” My voice drops to the tone that makes grown men piss themselves. “Go. Check.”
Understanding flickers across his face, followed by that shit-eating grin that means he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Ah, da. The special order.” He stands slowly, making a show of stretching. “Of course, bratishka. Always thinking of the little rabbit’s comfort.”
He saunters toward the kitchen, and I catch him throwing one more appreciative look at Mary’s ass.
I’m going to kill him.
Mary stands there looking like she wants to disappear into the floor, arms still wrapped around herself. She glances between me and where Lev disappeared, confusion written all over her face.
“Sit,” I tell her, nodding toward the couch.
She hesitates, then perches on the edge like she’s ready to bolt.
Boris clears his throat. “The delivery should be here soon. Italian from that place on Spring Mountain. Much better than the Chinese garbage.”
Dima says nothing, just observes from his position by the window.
“I… I’m not really hungry,” Mary says quietly.
“You didn’t eat,” I point out.
“I ate some—”
“You picked at rice like it offended you.”
Her cheeks flush again. “I’m just… It’s been a long day.”
Long day. She has no fucking idea how long her days are about to get.
“You eat,” I tell her. “Tomorrow, you go back to work. You’ll need your strength.”
Something flickers across her face. Fear, maybe. Or resignation.
“About tomorrow,” she says, voice a low murmur. “I need to call my grandma. We talk every day. She’ll worry if—”
“Already handled.”
She blinks. “What do you mean, already handled?”
“I hired a nurse. Full-time care. Your grandmother will be looked after.”
The words hit the room like a bomb. Boris stops typing on his laptop, his mouth actually falling open. Lev pauses in the kitchen doorway, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. Even Dima turns from the window to stare at me.
Mary looks like I just told her I bought her the moon.
“You… what?”
“Margaret Morgan, seventy-four, Ménière’s disease. She needs someone to check on her medication, help with dizzy spells. I hired someone qualified.”
Boris finds his voice first. “Boss, when did you—?”
“This morning. Before the Rodriguez situation.” I don’t look at any of them. “Medical staff, background checked, started today.”
“Holy shit,” Lev breathes from the kitchen. “Boss playing patron saint of geriatric care.”
“Shut up, Lev.”
But he’s grinning like Christmas came early. “What’s next? Adopting stray cats? Volunteering at soup kitchens?”
“I said shut up.”
Mary is staring at me with those wide hazel eyes, and something in her expression makes my chest tight.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I grunt, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “It’s practical. Can’t have you distracted by family obligations.”
But the way she’s looking at me suggests she sees right through that bullshit.
The doorbell chimes, saving me from whatever the fuck is happening in this room.
“Food,” Boris announces, jumping up like he’s eager to escape the weird tension.
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting around the kitchen island with proper Italian takeout. Mary has a plate of pasta in front of her that she’s actually eating, though slowly. The color’s coming back to her cheeks.
“This is better,” she admits.
“Told you the Chinese was shit,” Lev says, twirling linguine around his fork. “Though I have to say, little rabbit, you clean up nice. Very nice.”
Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth. “Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what? Little rabbit?” His grin widens. “It fits. All soft and timid, but fast when threatened.”
“Lev,” I warn.
“What? I’m being friendly.”
“Be friendly somewhere else.”
Mary sets down her fork. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends on what you’re asking,” I tell her.
“What exactly do you want me to do at the bank?”
The question I’ve been waiting for. Time to lay out the reality of her new life.
“Dave Thornton was moving money for a laundering operation. Someone else at the bank has access to those accounts. I need to know who.”
She nods slowly. “And how am I supposed to find that out?”
Boris reaches into his jacket and pulls out what looks like a regular USB drive. “This will copy everything on any computer you plug it into. Files, emails, browser history, everything.”
She stares at it like it might bite her. “You want me to hack my coworkers’ computers.”
“I want you to gather intelligence,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“One keeps you alive. The other gets you killed.”
She picks up the USB drive, turns it over in her palm. “What if I get caught?”
“Don’t get caught.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s the only advice that matters.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, studying the device. Then she looks up at me with those eyes that are too trusting for someone in her position.
“How long do I have to do this?”
“Until we find who we’re looking for.”
“And then?”
“Then we eliminate the threat.”
She flinches at the word “eliminate,” but doesn’t ask for clarification. Clever girl. She’s learning.
“I have some… requests,” she says finally.
Lev snorts. “Requests? Little rabbit thinks she’s in a position to negotiate.”
“What requests?” I ask, ignoring him.
“I want to cook my own meals sometimes. Not just takeout.” Her voice gets stronger as she talks. “And I want to bring some of my herbs from my balcony. If I’m going to be staying here—”
“You are staying here.”
“—then I want something that feels like… like me.”
The vulnerability in her voice does something to my chest that I don’t like.
“Fine. Boris will get your plants.”
“I can cook,” she adds quickly. “I’m actually pretty good at it. Better than Chinese takeout, anyway.”
Lev perks up. “Home cooking? I haven’t had a decent meal in months.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I tell him.
“What ideas? I’m just saying, if the little rabbit wants to cook—”
“She’s not cooking for you.”
“Why not? We’re all staying here, right? Might as well eat well.”
Something dark and possessive coils in my belly. The idea of Mary cooking for my men, taking care of them, being their little domestic goddess—
“No.”
“Come on, boss. Don’t be selfish. Share the wealth.”
I stand up fast enough that my chair scrapes against the floor. “Everyone out.”
Boris blinks. “Boss?”
“Out. Now.”
They exchange glances, but they know better than to argue when I use that tone. Boris packs up his laptop, Dima melts toward the elevator, and Lev grabs one last piece of bread from the table.
“Night, little rabbit,” he says, winking at Mary. “Sweet dreams.”
I wait until the elevator doors close before turning back to Mary.
She’s sitting there with her hands folded in her lap, looking small and uncertain again.
“There are rules,” I tell her.
“I figured.”
“You don’t leave this building without permission. You don’t contact anyone without clearing it through me first. You go to work, you come home, you report what you find.”
She nods.
“And you don’t cook for my men.”
That gets her attention. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I wasn’t planning to cook for… them,” she says quickly, color rising in her cheeks. “I just meant… for myself. Maybe sometimes make extra if there’re leftovers, but I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”
“Good.”
Because the thought of you taking care of anyone else makes me want to break things.
She stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression.
“Where will you be staying?” she asks finally.
“Unit down the hall. I’ll be close.”
Idiot. Why tell her anything?
“Oh.”
She looks almost… disappointed?
“Okay.”
I head toward the elevator, but something makes me stop at the threshold.
I glance over my shoulder.
“Don’t answer the door for anyone. Not even me.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I lock eyes with her.
“Because if I knock instead of using my key… something went very wrong.”
The color drains from her face as the implication sinks in.
I step into the elevator and let the doors close.