Page 61 of The Devil's Thorn
“And what aboutyou, Mr. Romanov? You’ve asked me a lot of questions, but said very little in return.”
He smirks faintly. “Is that your way of saying you want to know me?”
“I think if I’m going to be standing behind you every night, it’s only fair.”
He studies me for a beat, and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the glass dangling just above the floor.
“All right,” he says. “Ask.”
I blink once. “Just like that?”
“You asked to know. So ask.”
I don’t let myself hesitate.
“Why the casino?” I ask. “Of all things. It seems… a little too flashy for someone like you.”
His smirk deepens. “Flashy?”
I shrug, keeping my tone light. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes to be looked at. You strike me as someone who prefers to bewatching.”
He chuckles under his breath, a soft exhale of amusement.
“You’re not wrong,” he says. “But people talk more when they think they’re safe. And nothing feels safer than luck.”
I let that sit for a moment.
“And you?” he asks, voice low. “Do you like being watched?”
My throat tightens just slightly. The air shifts. But I keep my face even.
“Depends on who’s watching.”
Rafael’s eyes don’t leave mine.
“Good answer.”
He leans back again, calm and unreadable.
“But not an honest one.”
We sit like that for a while. Talking without saying anything real. Words wrapped in velvet, glances sharp enough to cut.
He doesn’t press. I don’t flinch.
But something is building. I feel it like static under my skin.
Then— a sound. Faint. Barely audible. Something outside the door.
A shift in pressure. A shoe scuff. The soft creak of wood.
I stiffen slightly but don’t move my head.
Rafael doesn’t react. Which means maybe it was nothing. Just the wind in the hallway. A passerby. A breath that doesn’t belong to me.
But the weight in my chest coils tighter anyway. Because I know better. The calm never lasts forever.
The sound outside fades. No footsteps now. No echo. Just silence.
