Page 65 of Wrapped in Silver

“Silver… I need you to trust me like I trust you.”

“It’s inevitable, kid. Your starry eyes won’t save this.”

“Hey.” I slap his belly. “Cut it out. I’m not a child, and I think I know that man a little better than you.He’ll come around.”

“And when he doesn’t? The whole mafia will know who got in between the Russians, and then…”

My throat tightens. “Then what?”

He turns away sharply, making me fear the worst.

Mucus starts to loosen in my nose, and my eyes begin to burn. “I won’t let anything happen to either of you, Silver.Ever again.”

He kisses my cheek. “If it were only up to you.”

Chapter 18

Quinn

Silver threw me a lifeline—a chance to have my old life back with Dad. Now I have to make sure I pay him back. I have my jacket on in the stage house I’ve been living at for the past few days, waiting for him to pack up the last of his supplies.

A part of me thinks he’s stalling because he believes this is his last taste of freedom. Actually, I have no idea what that man is thinking.

“Why are you doing this for me?” I ask against my better judgement.

He takes his time zipping up the duffle bag before walking up to me in his pristine grey suit. His red tie screams murder, tie-clip neat and shining, and his perfect mesh of beard and hair are right out of a GQ magazine.

He stands close to me and quietly says, “I’ve… grown obsessed with you, since I saw you peek out that window of yours.”

My entire body swoons, leaving a shell standing there. How could I be so lucky to have a guardian angel like him?

“Like some sick version of Rapunzel,” I scoff, recalling my earlier thought of it.

He laughs at that.

It’s nice to hear that rare sound.

“Too bad.”

“What’s too bad, Silver?”

“We’re worlds apart. I orbit the underworld, and you the authorities that enslave it. I’m of a different time… yours is just beginning.”

I grab his muscular obliques. “I don’t care. I want to be with you.”

“And do what? We’ll fall apart after this whirlwind of a honeymoon.”

My brow furrows. That one hurt like a punch to the gut, but I recover quickly. “Try me! We can talk aboutanything. Don’t you see our chemistry? We can have fun doingthe dumbest things.”

“We’re generations apart. I’ve already lived your years,” he says, mentally striking me again.

“Then why are you so drawn to living them again, with me?”

“Mmph.” He takes my hands so I stop wrinkling his suit.

“What movie sets are you working on?” I try, even knowing it’s probably some older style movie I probably would want nothing to do with.

“Right now? Some stupid soap opera calledChilling Desires.”

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