Page 21 of Devious Truth

“If it’s not safe, why are you standing in the window?” I tilt my head, waiting for him to see the hypocrisy.

He drops the curtain and flashes a grin at me. “Worried about me?”

“About you? No.” I shut the front door but then realize he should be leaving, not staying, and I open it again.

“Are gunshots in the middle of the night a regular occurrence around here?”

His question has to be rhetorical.

There isn’t a part of this city that the Volkov family doesn’t have some sort of business dealings. The guys on the street corner could be one of his, or the men in the backroom at the bar could be one of his underlings blowing off steam. If there’s a way to make money, legal or otherwise, one of the Volkovs aren’t too far away.

“Actually, no. Sometimes there’s a fight that flows out from the bar onto the street, but it’s pretty rare for guns to be used.”

He cocks his head. “But it happens enough you knew what that sound was when you heard it.”

“Says the man carrying a gun beneath his high-priced tailored suit jacket.” I roll my eyes at the absurdity of this conversation.

He doesn’t just work for the mafia; his family sits at the head of the Russian mafia’s table. Yet he stands in my little apartment making judgments on the danger of living in this part of town.

“Thanks for the ride, but it’s late so…” I swing around and head to the door.

But instead of making his way to the door, he stalks to the narrow table that separates the living room from the kitchen area. Before he even gets there, I realize what he’s up to. I was sorting through bills earlier and had left the pile of them on the table. His laser focused attention to the stack is telling.

“Did you go through my things?” I accuse as he picks up the bill on top of the pile.

“This car payment is for a car that’s not yours.”

I stare at the statement in his hand. The remaining balance on the car loan screams at me from his fist.

“How do you know it’s not mine?” I snatch the paper from him and throw it back on the table with the dozen other bills.

I should just switch to paperless. Then I could pretend none of this exists, and I wouldn’t get a reminder of what a shit showmy financial life is every month when they all show up in my mailbox.

“Do you have this car stashed away in a garage around here?” He lifts a brow, cocking his head toward the bill. “That car is only three years old and is an SUV. Your car is a two-door sedan with rust eating away the paint around the tire well.”

I sigh, looking down at the bill. I’m a month behind on this one. Other than tanking my credit score even more, not paying it isn’t going to ruin me. It’s not like they can repossess it.

“And these other bills.” He waves a hand over the pile. “What’s going on, Vivienne?”

“Nothing. The car loan is for what was my car.”

Well, more or less. Derek and I shared everything. There was no his and hers. At least that’s how he played it. Turned out he had things that weren’t mine– until he wasn’t around to take care of it. Then it all became mine.

“What do you mean was?”

“The car was totaled in an accident. You know how they say a car loses a bunch of value as soon as it drives off the lot? Well, it’s completely true. Apparently, even when the insurance pays out the totaled value, you still have to pay off the rest of the loan. So yeah, it was my car. It’s not anymore, but the debt is still mine.”

“And the rest of these bills?” He waves his hand over the credit card bills, the payday loan statement, and the personal loan.

“Are none of your business.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I appreciate the drive home, really, I do, but this is all my mess. My life. Not yours. So don’t worry about it.”

“I see this place, I see this, and you want me to just forget about it?” He makes it sound like that’s not an option, but isn’t it the only one?

“Yes. Because I am your employee!” I jam my hand through my hair. “Do you know what sort of bills Caroline has? Or Meredith? Or any of the other people who work for you?”

He steps closer. The air between us turns heavy.

“No. I don’t know anything out them.” His expression hardens. “And I don’t care. You’re different.”

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