She props her fist under her chin and tilts her head. “Why won’t you let me see your face?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Is it so I won’t be able to identify you later? Are you concerned I’ll tell my dad what actually happened, and he’ll chase you down?”
“Maybe.”
“Wise. You should be very afraid of the pakhan’s fury.”
“I’m quite terrified, Miss Petrova.” I take a long sip of my wine. “I’m sure Roman has gotten even more surly than he was the last time we met.”
Vasilisa eyes me with an open-mouthed stare, then rapidly blinks twice with those long black lashes. “You know my dad?”
“We collaborated on a couple of occasions.” I lean further back and watch her face. She’s even prettier when she’s confused. “There aren’t many people who need the services my business offers, or who can afford them. And I personally know most who do.”
“But . . . but you run a private security firm. I checked your company’s website. The basic offered package costs a few thousand a month, hardly an astronomical amount.”
“I wasn’t referring to my front business, Miss Petrova.”
“Then, what were you referring to?”
“That’s between Roman and me,” I tell her. “It’s rather late. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow.”
“Dude! That’s it? You just dropped this bomb, and now you’re sending me off to bed without further explanation?”
I’m greatly tempted to tell her the truth. She can’t be so naive that she doesn’t know what her dear old daddy does. But knowing Petrov, he’s likely tried to shield her from the worst of it. Would she be surprised to learn that over the past decade and a half my teams have eliminated multiple targets for her father? That one of those hits I executed myself?
“Children’s respect and trust in their parents should never be compromised, vespetta. I don’t want to taint your opinion of your father.”
“Oh, you’re such a gentleman, with utterly high moral standards.” She points her chewed-up pencil at me. “I know exactly who my dad is and what he does for a living. What kind of services did you provide to him?”
“The same ones I offer to all my clients. A swift and final resolution of very delicate matters, handled with the utmost discretion, of course.”
“Which means?”
“It means, I kill people.”
Two dark eyes turn into glaring slits. “My dad doesn’t outsource.”
For a few moments, I can only stare at her. “He doesn’t . . . outsource?”
“Correct. When he needs someone gone, my uncle handles the issue.”
I cock my head, observing my little hacker in a new light. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Of course I’m not okay with that. It’s just . . . That’s how it’s always been. How his world works. And by relation, mine, too. I’d rather my dad grow organic tomatoes for a living, but that’s not him. He might be a villain to most people, but to me, he’s just my dad.”
Interesting.
Most women within the criminal society feign ignorance of how their fathers, husbands, or brothers make a living. Even though they have no qualms about spending the blood money, they still profess innocence to the outside world.
“Do you work for your father? I’m sure Petrov finds your skills very useful.”
“No,” she mumbles.
“Why not?”
Vasilisa looks away, disappointment and hurt etched into her doll-like features. “Roman Petrov would never allow his delicate flower of a daughter to dip a toe in anything related to Bratva.”
“Just like the intricate, fragile-looking lily of the valley, perhaps?” I comment. The look she gives me is pure menace. “Which, if used properly, can lead to cardiac arrest and fatality.”
Vasilisa frowns in confusion.
Yes, I definitely need greater finesse when delivering compliments to women. This woman.
“And you know that . . . from personal experience?” she asks.
“I prefer Aconitum in business matters. It works faster. Some contracts have very short turnaround times.”
Rosy lips pressed tightly together, Vasilisa looks down at the laptop screen. I can practically see the wheels turning in her brain.
“What’s your last name?” she asks without looking at me.
Well, well . . . She connected the dots at last. “It’s De Santi.”
“Rafael De Santi,” she rasps. “The Sicilian.”
I smile. “At your service, Miss Petrova.”
