Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (116)

She tenses the moment I say her name. Maybe she doesn’t know it yet, but she can feel it coming—my anger brimming on the horizon like a hurricane. “What?”

“Come. Sit with me.”

I walk over to the windows where the giant armchairs are set up and sit down in one of them. She pads over a moment later and takes the vacant seat opposite me.

She fidgets and blinks rapidly, watching my every move.

“I’m going to let you go.”

Her eyes go wide. “You… you’re going to let me go?” she repeats with disbelief.

“That’s what I said.”

“What about Maxim?”

“He hasn’t been neutralized yet.”

She frowns. “Is that code for murdered?”

“It’s not a murder when the death is justified.”

“Sounds like a justification to me.”

My muscles flex. Sometimes, I forget how good she is at this. At holding her own, at fighting back. At giving me a fucking challenge.

“Anyway, you haven’t answered my question: why are you letting me go if Maxim is still a threat?” she asks.

“Because I don’t need you to get rid of him,” I say. She cringes back at the hardness in my tone. “You will be exposed the moment I release you. But clearly, that’s what you want.”

A flicker runs over her face. “I… I just want to go… home.”

“And you’ll be able to,” I tell her. “But keep in mind: if you do plan on going home, you’re exposing your family to Maxim’s forces.”

“And yours, too?”

“I promised you once that you have no cause to fear me. I meant it.”

She nods slowly like she’s struggling to take it all in. I’m keeping my own face a cold mask of indifference, but inside, my chest is on fire.

You must be patient with her, Mama said. Allow her to tell you the truth on her own.

Fuck, that is difficult. The woman gets under my skin like no other. I’m nearing a boiling point as it is.

‘I… I have to go back home, Isaak,” says Cami. “Even if it’s just for a little while.”

“For your sister and your nephews?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“And of course the niece you’re so fond of.”

Her knuckles go white as she grinds them together. “Yes, my niece, too.”

I have to struggle to keep my mask in place.

“When can I leave?” she asks in a small voice. The green in her seems to fade and blot like paint on canvas.

“Now if you want,” I tell her with a nonchalant shrug. “You can pack as many bags as you need.”

I rise to my feet. She stares at me, still trying to process this change of heart.

“Isaak…”

If it’s going to happen, it has to be now. If there’s any hope of salvaging whatever the fuck exists or once existed between her and I.

So I wait. I breathe and I wait for her to tell me the truth.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she stands and meets my gaze. I don’t miss the diamond tears clustered in the corners of her eyes.

“I’ll start packing now,” she says quietly.

I stand there, unmoving and simmering with well-concealed anger.

The moment she has her freedom back, will she run straight to Maxim?

Will they go and collect their little fucking love child and attack me in full force?

If they do, she will have to watch the fucker die. I’m okay with that.

“You do that.”

Cami is about to turn away when her body changes course and veers towards me instead. She moves closer and her eyes rise from my chest to my face.

She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. She shakes her head and a tear falls down her cheek. She seems shocked by the treachery as she wipes it away self-consciously.

“Tears?” I ask.

“Tears,” she repeats.

“Why?”

“Because…” Her voice shakes. “Because I can’t believe you’re letting me go.”

Her hands have started trembling.

“Thank you, Isaak.”

I give her a curt nod. Just when I think she’s about to turn away, she takes a step closer and pushes herself up on her tiptoes. Her lips fall over mine and I taste her.

She kisses me with a fervor that I’m not expecting.

I’m the one who breaks the kiss.

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Saying goodbye,” she says.

Nothing fucking surprises me.

Nothing.

And yet, what’s the point of keeping up the manipulation if she’s got what she wants now?

Her freedom has been handed to her on a platter. She has no reason to pretend. To continue the charade.

But she insists. Her hand cups my face, forcing me to look at her. She’s trying to find some emotion in my eyes. I’ve been trained too well for that, though. She’ll find only what my father taught me to reveal: absolutely fucking nothing.

“Can’t you forget your training for one minute?” she whispers. “I’m trying to tell you something important.”

I tense. Is this it? Is this the moment she comes clean?