Page 35 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
A small smile touches her lips. “You aren’t that bad.”
I cock a brow, and she rolls her eyes. “I am, malyshka. You are an exception.”
She nods, swallowing heavily. “If I went back to a normal life, where would that leave us?”
I hesitate, trying to formulate words. The truth is, Adelina has a shot at something I don’t, and I want that for her.
“I’ll kill Bianchi,” I vow, avoiding her question entirely.
“It’s never that simple where he’s concerned.”
“He will not escape me a second time, malyshka.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and I roll onto my back once more and close my eyes. “Sasha?” she whispers after long seconds.
“Yes?”
“Can I sleep here?”
I should tell her to go, but there are always so many things I should do where Adelina’s concerned, yet I don’t. So instead, I wordlessly reach for her, pulling her to my chest. She’s like a drug I know I’ll have to quit, but for now, I’m taking my fill. Her cheek presses to my chest, and for one perfect moment, nothing outside of this exists. She’s not the wife of a mafia boss and the daughter of another. She’s not a girl with a treacherous path ahead of her. I’m not the man harboring dark and deadly secrets, the guy who ruined her life. We’re just us, two beating hearts, our twisted emotions enveloping each other until we’re intertwined like thorny vines.
When I wake in the morning, she’s gone. I didn’t even hear her leave. My lack of awareness in her presence is both soothing and extremely concerning. It’s as though the soldier I have spent my whole life becoming retreats for her, leaving…a man.
Just a man.
I can’t find him.
I’ve asked every contact, paid off men who work for the Bianchi family, drained every resource I have, but Enrique Bianchi is like a ghost. He popped his head up just long enough, but I couldn’t see clearly just who it was who climbed out of that car. And now, he’s gone, just like before.
Frustration eats away at me as the days tick by. I can see the fear consuming Adelina. She’s quiet, keeping to herself. I’ve barely spoken to her since she crept into my bed a few nights ago.
I watch her from across the gardens. Her back remains to me as she sits on that stone bench overlooking the cliff below. The sun touches the horizon, just starting to dip beneath the ocean. Her hair stirs in the breeze, wild waves reaching out like fingers playing through the wind. She doesn’t move as I approach or when I take the seat next to her. The light bathes her skin in a golden glow, the orange reflecting in her distant gaze like fire.
“I can’t find him,” I say.
“I know.” Her words are barely a breath.
“I will, though.”
“No, you won’t.” She blinks slowly, and a single drop of moisture falls from her lashes, caressing the smooth skin of her cheek. “What do you do when you’re caught between two seemingly impossible tasks?” she asks.
I frown, unable to answer that.
She turns, her eyes meeting mine. “When both things hurt you, when both are bad, but in different ways.”
I inhale a deep breath. “Life is full of pain, Adelina. It is how we manage it that separates the strong from the weak.” They are words that Nicholai would tell me regularly. Only a weak man allows physical pain to undermine mental strength. I know that’s not what she’s talking about, though.
She focuses on the sun once more, now almost completely dropped below the horizon. “You won’t find Enrique. He’s thrown down an ultimatum that I have no choice but to comply with because the only way out of it is if he dies.”
“So, what? You hand yourself over like a good little wife?”
She closes her eyes on a sigh. “I comply. It’s the only way.”
“Adelina—”
She grabs my face and places her lips over mine. It seems sudden and out of the blue, but she’s warm and soft, so innocent and sweet. Like the addict I am, I fall into that blissful high. My hand cups her cheek, sweeping silky strands of hair behind her ear. When she pulls away, tears stain her cheeks.
“Malyshka?”
Pushing to her feet, she hurries away, bare feet rushing over the velvety lawn.
My gut twists, but I don’t follow her.
The earthy aroma of coffee swirls around me, steam rising from my mug and catching on the bright sunlight that streams through the kitchen windows. I glance at my phone, at the string of texts from Una, one after the other.
Call me.
What’s happening?
When are you coming home?
I don’t know what to say to her. I can’t tell her Enrique is alive. Not yet. I’m about to kill him, and everyone already believes he’s dead. No need to complicate things. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
