Page 86 of The Wrong Monster

My head tilts.

Smirnov.

I know that name. Everyone in my world knows that name. Especially now, after the fall of his brother in politics and Ruslan’s launch of his company’s second headquarters in Colorado.

Ruslan is a Bratva boss. Matilda’s sister is married to one of us.

And Matilda hates everything we represent.

I lean back in my chair. Interesting. Very interesting.

I involved Matilda after learning she was a defense attorney. I’d known she was outspoken about crime, ruthless in court, and apparently incapable of keeping her opinions to herself.

I hadn’t known her family was already tangled in this world. Perhaps she isn’t as far removed from it as she believes.

* * *

That thought follows me for hours. By midnight, I know I should leave her alone. But I find myself leaving my wing of the lake house and heading toward her rooms.

I stop outside her door and stand there for several seconds, thinking, this is a mistake. Leave it.

But there’s something about this woman. She’s like a splinter under my skin, like an eclipse I can’t unsee. I knock, and I wait, not knowing what to expect.

I keep seeing her brace a hand against the workshop wall. The fear on her face when I shut the bolt. I needed to know whether she was tied to Yuri, but I took her there because I was angry and wanted her too frightened to lie. There’s no comfortable way to dress that up now.

At worst, she won’t answer the door. At best, she will, and we’ll argue most likely.

With Matilda, it’s usually a safe bet.

I’m just about to turn around and head back toward my own quarters when the doorknob turns. Through a sliver, Matty looks up at me with wary, tired eyes. Her curly hair brushes her forehead and cheeks, coming out of the bun at the nape of her neck.

I’m sorry, I think, but I can’t bring myself to say it aloud. After another moment, Matilda opens the door wider. Steps back.

I step inside as if this house isn’t mine; as if I don’t own this room and everything in it. Well, everything but her.

Something in me aches with wanting her.

Matilda turns away and heads for the small sitting section of the room, near the window. She drops into a chair, and I notice suddenly that she’s barefoot. Her feet look small. She looks so vulnerable when she curls her legs up under her. I walk over slowly and sit across from her, both of us quiet, not knowing where to begin.

We sit across from each other in the quiet room, the space between us somehow feeling larger than it ever has before. Matilda looks tired and pale. She’s still visibly shaken from earlier, and I swallow down the regret that brings me.

“I had my people look into what you told me,” I say eventually. “Your mother. Semiyon. You.”

Her shoulders stiffen.

“I didn’t find anything that contradicts what you said.”

“Then you could have done that before you took me out there.”

There’s no clever answer. I look down at my hands, then make myself look at her.

“Yes.”

She waits. I have men who can’t bear five seconds of my silence, and now I understand the urge to fill it with anything that might make it stop.

“I was wrong,” I say. “About you. About what being his daughter meant. I’m sorry I took you into that room.”

Her mouth tightens. “I thought you were going to hurt me.”