Page 99 of Silent Heart

“This place is unbelievable.” I wasn’t planning to talk until I had my coffee, but the words tumbled out.

Kolya flicked a glance over the scene. The skin around his eyes might have softened. “To me, it’s my father’s house. But I could see how it would seem that way.”

“Your father’s…house.” Well, that was one piece of the puzzle. But why the parent felt the need to build this fortress in the heart of the bustling metropolis, I couldn’t fathom.

I felt his gaze on me, but I ignored Kolya as I folded into the passenger seat of the pickup. It was the same one he’d been driving at the lake, and a familiar ache churned in my gut at the vivid memories of riding up here.

The one night we couldn’t keep our hands off each other and….

I shook my head, stabbing at the radio. I missed the button once, twice, and then Kolya caught my fingers. “What time is your class? Eight forty-five?”

He knew my schedule. He knew my freaking schedule!

“Yes,” I stammered, yanking my hand back.

He let it go. “I would like to have French toast with you, but in the interest of getting you back in time, we might have to try something a bit faster. There’s a bakery, and they have those puffy, colorful cookies you like.”

The worms in my gut probably weren’t going to let me enjoy food, even something as delicious as a macaron. The slithering emotions writhed and flipped, making the ride out of the industrial park full of unease.

Kolya pulled into a bistro, looking at the drive through, the door, and then at me.

I could read him, damn me but I could read what this man was thinking as if we’d known each other our whole lives.

“I think drive through, so we can talk privately in here,” I said, glad that the shake was out of my voice for the moment.

Kolya nodded.

In the tense minutes it took for our food, I decided on the best course of questions. There were vital pieces of information I needed to know—and others I refused to discuss.

The first sips of coffee did wonders to settle my stomach. Kolya spread the cinnamon brown sugar cream cheese over the raisin bagel and handed it to me, a blue macaron on the side.

The gesture undid me.

It was too much, the feeling of familiarity.

I set the bagel down. He wasn’t mine, and we weren’t an old married couple despite how these little quirks made us feel.

“Are your family some kind of foreign dignitaries?” I began.

Kolya shook his head. “My father and his brothers came from Russia. Chiara, the woman I spoke to in the kitchen, is his second wife, and she immigrated here from Italy decades ago. But most of us children are first generation Americans—with a few exceptions.”

That was the most I’d heard him offer in an explanation. His willingness to try and communicate settled me more than the coffee. I took another sip, because that also helped.

“How is it that they sent for you to deal with Cami Joe’s missing friend? Your brother said you had special operations training,” I added, watching him carefully.

A muscle in Kolya’s jaw feathered. “I’m not a model citizen, Harley.”

From the way his chest rose and fell, that admission was hard for him.

Still, I couldn’t find it in myself to take mercy. “That doesn’t answer the question, Kolya.”

“My name,” he breathed.

“Yes, your damn name!” I dropped the coffee cup into the cupholder before I threw it. “There’s a whole lot you kept secret this summer, including that. I deserve to know why.”

Kolya tensed. I wanted to kick myself for losing my cool so quickly, but the lack of sleep, the insanity of the situation, and the emotions that refused to be locked away created a terrible combustion, and I was seconds away from an explosion.

“My family leads an organized crime syndicate.”

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