Chapter Twenty-One

Ilya

B rooke hasn't said much to me over the past twenty-four hours, and even though it stung, I wasn't surprised. She was a fiery woman, and it was stupid of me to expect that she wouldn't fight, that she would come with me willingly. I'd hoped for the best, but planned for the resistance, and now we were both stuck in a dead silent penthouse filled with tension.

She hadn't woken up until well after noon because the stubborn woman stayed awake last night for as long as she could, even as her lids slid closed time and again. She'd used every ounce of her willpower to fight sleep before it finally claimed her, and then I watched her sleep.

She was beautiful, despite the purple crescents under her eyes. Her face was smooth without the stress I'd brought into her life, her hair tangled all around her while her body curled into ball as if, even in sleep, she wanted to protect herself from me. The only good thing about this current predicament was that I had time to explain everything, to reconnect with the one woman I could never forget, and maybe get more than an ill-advised quickie in my office.

"Are you hungry?" I asked when it became clear she would sit there and stare out the window until this entire ordeal was over.

"Are you going to let me make a phone call?"

I ignored her question, reaching for patience I didn't feel. "You have to eat something, Brooke."

"I'll eat when I get home."

She was so fucking stubborn, I couldn't help but smile. "It might be a while." The truth was I had yet to figure everything out, and it would only be a matter of time before Oleg realized she wasn't dead, and I'd gone off-grid.

She looked over her shoulder and glared at me.

"You're upset. I get that and I'm sorry. If there was another way to keep you safe, I would have done that." She didn't acknowledge that she heard me. "Brooke, please. I am trying to do what is right here."

"Then take me home. I have a life and I can't just disappear for days at a time. Let me make a phone call." Her shoulders slumped forward in defeat, and she rested her chin on her knees. I hated seeing her looking so troubled and knowing that I was the cause.

"I can't do that yet, not without putting your life at risk. As soon as Oleg finds out that you're not dead, he's going to send someone else to do what I couldn't." And then he would send someone to kill me for disobeying him, or maybe he knew I wouldn't be able to kill Brooke and that was why he issued the order.

I spared another look in Brooke's direction before I grabbed my breakfast and took a seat at the kitchen table while I looked through the dossier Dmitri had given me last night.

I started with the last years of my father's life. Our organization was incredibly successful financially, and my father had expanded our territory and our influence across Russia and beyond. He was a savvy businessman and a ruthless bratva leader, the perfect combination. But it was also a recipe for enemies within his own camp.

Oleg had been double dipping, that was clear with just a cursory look at my father's private accounts, but it wasn't just him. There were two other members of his inner circle who lived bigger lives than they should have. One had a serious drug habit and overdosed three years after my father's murder, while the other hadn't been seen in seven years.

After hours of scouring through the accounts and photos and notes Dmitri and Alexei had gathered, I hadn't confirmed a damn thing in regard to Oleg. He was a prime suspect, but he wasn't the only suspect, and he was family, which made this shit even shittier.

Around lunchtime, Brooke only moved to go to the bathroom before she resumed her spot near the window.

I couldn't blame her.

"You have to eat," I growled as I plated up two steaks with a side of roasted potatoes.

"I told you that I'm not hungry. Let me make a phone call."

"What is the point of me saving your life, if your plan is to starve yourself to death? Eat the goddamn food."

She didn't move for two full minutes, but eventually she unfolded her legs and got to her feet before she stomped over to the small kitchen table. "How long are we going to be here?"

"I don't know yet."

"So that's your plan, keep me here until whoever gave the order forgets you were supposed to murder me? Good idea, Ilya." She made a sound of disgust and stabbed the steak, cutting through the medium-rare meat like she wished it was me.

"I need to go over all the information I have to make sure that when I act, it is the right move." I couldn't go after Oleg, without evidence. At least not without spending the rest of my life running from the whole fucking Russian mafia. "It won't be too long, I promise."

"You shouldn't do that," she shot back. "You have a terrible track record of keeping promises."

Damn, she knew how to use her sharp tongue for maximum effect.

I smiled because that fire was exactly what had drawn me to her in the first place, that perfect blend of shy and sassy. Sweet and sexy.

In a lot of ways, she was still that girl, and while I figured my shit out, I planned to unearth that girl within the woman she'd become.