Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(39)

I can’t blame him for thinking it. I’m not totally positive I won’t.

“How are you feeling now? Any better?” he questions.

I swallow the grape I just popped into my mouth. “Better. Thank you for saving me. Thank you… for everything.”

“It’s my duty,” he replies simply.

“But what about Maggie?” I ask, the guilt that’s been lurking in the back of my mind surging forward. “I don’t know where they’ve taken her. I don’t know if she’s even alive.”

His face darkens, his handsome features settling into the hard lines of a marble statue.

“I will find her. I promise you that,” he says heavily.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I answer, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. The situation doesn’t seem particularly hopeful. Who knows what kind of “buyer” Will had lined up for Maggie? She could be halfway across the world by now. Or worse.

He sets down his cup of tea and reaches across to take my hand firmly. His striking eyes blaze into mine when he says, “I swear to you, I will find her. I will bring her back.”

“But how? How is any of this possible? How did you even find me?” I ask, leaning forward. For a split second, his eyes dart down to my chest and I realize that the oversized robe is hanging loosely, leaving my cleavage clearly visible. I immediately blush.

“I was not always the way you see me now. I walked a much different path many years ago, and sometimes my feet… they lead me in that old direction if I let them. I will find her, Liv. You can trust in me to do that,” he affirms, his voice low and intense.

“Monsieur Pavlenko, I do trust you,” I tell him earnestly, after a long pause.

He squeezes my hand gently and nods. “Call me Max.”





14





Max





As I clean up the remainder of takeout, I can feel Liv’s eyes following me the whole time, watching me move about the kitchen remarkably calmly for the exchange that had just transpired between us.

I know what’s on her mind. She wants to know more of what I’ve said about myself, and I know I’ve already said far too much. I should have just said I’m a well-connected man, or that I know the city very well. Neither of them would be complete lies, but I can read in those eyes of hers that half-truths would not escape her. She’s clever, and even after what she’s been through, she won’t accept a lie. But how can she accept the truth?

I’m a hitman. A trained killer. What transpired in Liv’s rescue came to me with ease. I’ve faced much greater odds with far less preparation and still come out with only a few scars. But that is not a life Liv needs to be exposed to. She is meant for so much more, and I will make sure she achieves it. I will protect her, and all the women the mafia thinks they can enslave for the sake of their greed. And I won’t let her be stolen from me again.

But in my silence, I can’t help but wonder how many of the blanks in my story she’s filling in herself, and with what. I remind myself that I shouldn’t be bothered by such things. I’m out to protect them and shut down the slave trade again, not worry about what my student thinks of me.

If things keep up the way they are, she may think far worse of me yet.

“I imagine you’re about ready for bed,” I say with a smile as I hear a long yawn come from the living room, and I hear her try to stifle it suddenly, embarrassed.

“It’s been a day,” she admits, weariness in her voice.

“I understand if your mind will be racing too much to get to sleep,” I say, stepping back into the living room and leaning against the wall, my arms crossed. “I have some sleep aids that might put your mind at ease, if you like.”

She shakes her head, a little bit of fright coming into her gaze, and I wonder if that’s how they got her, was drugging her. I’d assumed it had all started off cordial enough, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that asshole who sent her the email hadn’t even bothered trying to charm her, and instead just knocked her out.

“I don’t need it,” she says, her voice a bit tight, her shoulders tensed.

“Good to hear it. You can take my bed for the night,” I say, trying to keep things light as I gesture to the hallway. “It’s the last door on the right, and the sheets are clean. I tend to wash them a little obsessively,” I add, rubbing the back of my neck. “You grow up without a clean bed, and it makes you value fresh sheets.”

That makes Liv smile, a heartwarming sight after the frightened gaze just a second ago, and she nods, but looks down for a moment, hesitating. “Thanks. But…”