Fall(Romanian Mob Chronicles Book 2)(34)

I pulled her to me again, squeezed her tight, touching every inch of her I could reach, trying to believe that she was real.

Alive.

I cupped her face in my hands, rubbed my thumbs along her cheekbones, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. Her gaze didn’t waver from mine, but I didn’t see the playfulness, affection, even the anger that had so often lit it.

I saw shock, fear, neither of which surprised me but both of which terrified me, made the almost countless times that my own life had been at stake seem like nothing.

I lifted her from the ground, telling myself that she wrapped her arm around my shoulders because she wanted to and not simply for stability, and carried her out into an empty car that Anton had left for me.

And as we drove, she didn’t say a word, didn’t cry or scream or even insult me for what had happened. No, she was completely gone from me, completely absent. I prayed I would get her back.





* * *



Esther



Only when I realized I had no clue where we were going did some of the fog that had ensnared me dissipate.

“Where are we going, Sorin?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that. I can…” I trailed off, the terror I thought I had choked down rushing back up.

The adrenaline had faded but left a shaky unsteadiness that made me nauseous, and I didn’t think I could handle forming a coherent thought, though it didn’t stop me from wondering what I would do if I were alone.

He reached over and grabbed my hand as if he could sense the direction of my thoughts.

“I’m here with you. Nothing will happen to you.”

“Sorin, I don’t think—”

“Don’t think. Just get warm and relax. I’ll have you home soon, and you’ll be safe there.”

I should’ve argued. Part of me wanted to argue, but instead I tucked my feet under my thighs and waited, holding tight to Sorin’s hand.

I perked when he turned down a quiet street. It was filled with rows of manicured lawns, the houses far enough apart to give at least an illusion of privacy. So different from my own somewhat cramped and definitely not as affluent neighborhood. I wondered why we were here, but stayed silent, content, at least for the moment, to follow him.

He led me up a tidy front porch and opened the door. I entered behind him and looked around quickly. Dark hardwoods ran across all the floors I could see. To the left was a small dining room, and beyond that a huge kitchen that made me almost as jealous as Fawn and Vasile’s did.

Hand still intertwined with mine, Sorin locked the door and then pulled me forward and down a hall. We passed through the living room and I tried to take it all in at once, but when my gaze landed on the mantel, I stopped cold, somewhat unbelieving of what I saw. I released his hand and walked closer, my eyes glued to the mantel.

There was a picture of Sorin holding baby Maria. She was tiny in his arms, tubes running out of her body, but he smiled bright, looked so proud.

That picture made my heart tremble, but the effect was little compared to the feeling that rushed over me when I stared at the picture next to it.

It was me at Fawn and Vasile’s as best I could tell, my lips curved in my standard expression of disbelief. I drifted even closer, not even stopping when I thought about my dirty feet on his pristine floors. I walked until I was in front of the mantel, traced a finger over the picture of him and Maria and then reached for the picture of me before I dropped my hand and turned to him.

He’d followed behind me, and stood close enough to touch me, though he didn’t.

“You live here?” I said.

His lips curved, his eyes slightly sparked with humor.

“That was a dumb question,” I said.

“Not what you expected?”

“I figured you lived in a strip club,” I said, feeling almost like myself.

He laughed lightly, grabbed my hand again.

“Come now, Esther. You know I’d make the strippers come to me.”

“You’re right. Silly of me. But it’s been a tough night.”

I regretted the words as soon as they were out; instantly all humor faded.

He tucked his forearm against mine, pulled me until I was trapped against his side, and then started to walk down the hall and out of the living room. I hadn’t even asked him about the picture of me. About why it was in his home. But it didn’t feel right to now.

We entered the room at the end of the hall, and through the ever-brightening morning light, I could see that it was masculine, not decorated, exactly, but not what I had imagined Sorin’s bedroom would look like.

I halfway wondered if I’d even ever imagined it. It seemed so mundane, a bedroom, a house. Sorin and those things, real life, were incompatible. At least in my mind, he had existed in a space divorced from that, lived in a world completely distinct from mine and from any that I could understand. My shoulders slumped.