The Professional (The Game Maker #1)(11)
Author: Kresley Cole

The thought warmed me. Until I remembered that my DNA tied me to a mobster. “There could have been a mistake in the match. A clerical error or something.”

Sevastyan raised his glass to his lips, only to lower it without taking a drink. “Your resemblance to his mother is uncanny.”

I looked like my grandmother. I found myself softening, but not enough to soothe my misgivings. “So what does my father do? In a criminal sense. Run girls? Guns and drugs?”

Sevastyan gave me a look as if my question was the height of ridiculousness. “The bulk of his business is related to real estate and construction. But he also mediates disputes between gangs, and he sells protection to business owners. He does a brisk trade blackmailing politicians. No girls, no guns, no drugs. That’s part of why we’re having this conflict—because he doesn’t want that in his territory.”

“Because it would bring down his real estate values?”

Sevastyan looked like he was grappling for patience with me. “Because it would bring down the quality of life for the people he protects.”

That was surprising. “Okay, so maybe he’s not a diabolical, moustache-twirling villain. But I still don’t want to get mixed up in this. I just want to finish my doctorate, to have a career.”

With my history degree. Though I didn’t necessarily want to be a professor or writer. Had I continued with my PhD because it’d been the path of least resistance?

“Do you think your father wanted to uproot you from your life? Blame Zironoff for this. If not for him, you’d be asleep in your bed right now.”

“My investigator? What did he do?”

Again Sevastyan’s drink almost made it to his mouth, but he set it down. “The greedy little prick demanded money from Kovalev to keep secret his discovery. But we found out he’d already told our enemies about your existence, offering your whereabouts for a price. He willfully put you at risk.”

I swallowed. “Did you hurt Zironoff?”

Eyes gone cold, Sevastyan said, “He took your trust—and your hard-earned money—then used your blood to blackmail a vor. He jeopardized the life that I’ve sworn to protect. Tell me, Natalie, should he not have been punished for the damage he’d done—and prevented from doing more?”

I could read the writing on the wall. Sevastyan had ganked Zironoff. A true mob enforcer. A professional killer.

Leveling his gaze at me, he said, “Understand me, girl, I will eliminate any threat to you, pitilessly.”

I wondered how many other men Sevastyan had killed. I wondered why I still couldn’t manage to be afraid of this man. Instead, I found myself feeling . . . protected.

“Zironoff set you up to be murdered, but still you won’t understand.” He exhaled a weary breath. “I can’t wait to hear your moral American outrage.”

I tried to drum some up. But Zironoff had gone to a group of lethal thugs, planning to profit off my dream of finding my relatives. He’d leaked the confidential information I’d entrusted to him, knowing I might be killed.

So I shrugged. “Do svidaniya, Zironoff.” So long and good-bye.

Sevastyan’s gaze flickered over my face. Observant, watchful. Then one corner of his sexy lips curled.

My heart thudded at his half smile. If he ever truly smiled, I’d probably have a coronary. Quelling the urge to fan myself, I asked, “So, do you have a mob name? Like Alex the Butcher or Al the Shark or something?”

“I’m from Siberia; they call me the Siberian. End of story.”

“Simple yet elegant, goes with everything. Were you born into the ‘the life’ or did you steer your major?”

Flinty gaze.

“Okay, so what’s Kovalev’s mob name?”

“Older vor call him the Clockmaker.”

“Because he cleans clocks? With his fists?”

“Your father has a wry sense of humor as well. You have much in common with him.”

“Really?” I tilted my head. “You’ve learned a lot about me, huh?”

“I know everything about you, academically, financially, socially. I know that you had stability growing up and a caring couple to raise you, which relieved Kovalev’s mind greatly. I know that you’re driven and clever. Probably too much for your own good.”

I recalled that feeling I’d had of being watched earlier tonight. “You followed me home from the bar.” Mere hours ago.

“I did.”

“Have you been in my house before tonight?” Had he found the collection of vibrators under my bed, or noted that half of my Internet bookmarks were for  p**n ?

“Of course. I was thorough.” His demeanor was so matter-of-fact, even as he sat here admitting that he’d violated my privacy on the regular.

My entire life had been laid bare to this man. Between gritted teeth, I said, “Any highlights you discovered that you’d like to share?”

“Don’t worry—not every detail will make it back to Kovalev.” Smirk. “Such as the arsenal you keep under your mattress.”

Arsenal? Dying here.

“Or what I caught you doing to yourself in your bath.”

Now that I wasn’t in fear for my life, embarrassment scalded me. Sevastyan had caught me diddling the da, spelunking, dialing the pink telephone. “Why did you open the door to my bathroom in the first place?”

“I heard a sound.” He raised an eyebrow. “A whimper. I thought the worst.”

“You seem to have a talent for keeping me at a disadvantage. Maybe when we get to Moscow, I can investigate your apartment? Look under your bed? How about I watch while you masturbate?”

At that, tension shot through him as if he’d been gut-punched. “Guard your tongue, pet.” His fingers were wrapped so tightly around his glass, I thought the crystal would shatter.

“Or you’ll do what? Throw me down in a cornfield and feel me up?”

He clenched his jaw, as if battling for control of himself. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Stop arguing with him, Nat. Go—to—bed. Was I so intrigued/aroused by this guy that I’d do anything with him, even fight?

“If you hadn’t run—”

“Oh, don’t you dare put that back on me!”

“A half-naked redhead was spread beneath me, rolling her hips in welcome. I don’t have ice in my veins.”

I arched a brow. “Don’t you?”

“Not in that area of my life,” he amended. “Even though you’re far from my type, I was affected.” He used his right forefinger to twist the thumb ring on that same hand. I’d noticed he’d done that before when he’d seemed uncomfortable. A tell? That could come in handy. “Any man would’ve been, so don’t read more into it than that.”