Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (71)

It’s a ridiculous notion, of course, considering where I am and why I’ve been brought here in the first place. But I’ve always known there’s nothing rational about catching feelings for someone.

Love comes when you least expect, and never how you thought it would look.

He runs his hand through his hair. It looks soft, the kind that demands to be run through. Have I ever done that? Just stroked my fingers through his hair? Those are gestures of a different kind of intimacy. It’s a gesture of affection, an entirely different and dangerous territory to venture into.

I can’t risk it.

“We all have moments like that,” Isaak says at last.

“Do we?” I ask. “Have you ever felt like that?”

“You’d be surprised.”

There’s something he’s not telling me. Some secret lurking behind his eyes. But what else is new? Instead of feeling resentful of that fact, I feel the need to comfort him.

I don’t know why that is. Maybe it’s the mother in me that I’ve been forced to suppress for the last five years. Maybe I just can’t bear to see Isaak with that strange, sad look in his eyes.

Or maybe I just want an excuse to touch him.

I move closer. My arm grazes the side of his. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?”

He gives me only a slanted glance. “Nothing’s bothering me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Right, of course, I forgot. I’m expected to bare my soul to you, but you’re the broody mystery man whose armor no one can penetrate.”

He smirks. “Sounds about right.”

I roll my eyes. “I would tell you to go fuck yourself, but I’m not in the mood for a fight today.”

“That’s a first.”

I send him a glare And he returns a flawless smile. But he’s distracted. Usually, when he looks at me, it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just me and him.

But this time, even though he’s right here with me, he’s looking past me.

“You’re staring.”

I blush instantly.

“Trying to figure me out?” he asks.

“You know, admitting that something’s bothering you doesn’t make you weak, you know.”

His smirk falters into something else. Something more inscrutable. “I just… learned something.”

“Oh?”

“A bit of family drama,” he says, “that my mother decided to dredge up for no apparent reason other than to fuck with my head.”

I already know he’s not going to tell me what this revelation is. So I don’t bother asking. “Maybe she wanted to clear her conscience?” I say instead.

He scoffs angrily. “She kept a secret for years. She willfully hid the truth from me. I call that betrayal.”

My heart constricts slightly. This conversation is hitting painfully close to home. Is he really talking about his mother, or is this a trap meant for me?

Has he found out about Jo? Is this a prelude to an accusation?

I have to calm down. If I’m not careful, I’ll give away my secret.

Isaak may not be the villain I once thought he was. But does that mean I want him involved in Jo’s life? I don’t know the answer to that. And until I do, I’m keeping my secret close to heart and far away from the men who’re still using me as a prop in their power games.

“Or maybe she was just trying to protect someone?” I suggest.

He doesn’t so much as flinch. “I don’t give a shit about her reasons. If you care about someone, you’re honest with them.”

The sentence lands between us like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. But I meant what I said to him earlier: I don’t want a fight today.

“It’s a two-way street, you know?”

“Meaning?”

“Have you been as honest with your mother?”

“It’s different.”

“Why?” I demand. “Because she’s a woman and you’re a man?”

“Because I am the don. I’m the one who makes the decisions and I’m the one who has to live with them. The secrets I keep are to—”

“Protect the family?” I finish for him. “So then you’re just a hypocrite.”

His jaw clenches tight. “I’m—”

“That’s what it sounds like to me. I mean, you expect total honesty from everyone else, but you don’t feel like you owe them the same thing. Why? You just think you’re above the rules?”

His eyes fall on me like dark storm clouds just before the thunder breaks. I’ve struck a nerve.

“I’m not like him…”

“What?” I ask, trying to catch his low words.

He shakes his head like he’s snapping out of a fugue state. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

Isaak sighs. He lifts his hand up and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s the first time I’ve seen him do that and it makes me stop short.

Unfortunately, he notices my reaction. “What’s wrong?”

“I… nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. That gesture… it’s the exact same one that Jo does. She started when she was about two years old. And I remember it clearly, because it had seemed such an adult thing to do.