Chapter 2 - The Name I Never Told Him|
Marius Orlov had just crossed a line I wasn't sure I could forgive.
I stared at him across his enormous office, the rain still sliding down the windows behind his desk.
"How do you know Marco's name?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he extinguished his cigarette in a crystal ashtray and adjusted the cuffs of his black shirt.
It was such a familiar gesture that it made me angry.
Three years.
Three years of organizing his schedule, protecting his privacy, remembering his preferences, and anticipating his every demand.
And apparently, somewhere along the way, he'd decided my privacy belonged to him too.
"Marius."
His eyes lifted.
I almost never called him by his first name inside the office.
Something dark flashed across his expression.
"Answer me," I said.
He studied my face.
"Marco Santini is not a man you should be having dinner with."
"That wasn't my question."
"He's connected to people who would use you to get close to me."
I laughed bitterly.
"Everyone in Naples is connected to someone who wants something from you."
"Not everyone has his particular connections."
I took a step toward the desk.
"Did you have someone follow me?"
His silence was answer enough.
My stomach sank.
"You did."
"Your name appeared in a security report."
"Why?"
"Because Santini has been asking questions about my organization."
"And that gives you the right to investigate my personal life?"
His jaw tightened.
"It gives me a reason to be concerned."
"No, Mr. Orlov. It gives you a reason to warn me. Those are two different things."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said quietly, "You're angry."
"Brilliant observation."
His eyebrow lifted.
I had never spoken to him that way.
Not once.
Usually, I measured every sentence before letting it leave my mouth.
But something inside me had finally snapped.
Maybe it was the exhaustion.
Maybe it was the humiliation of realizing that a man who barely noticed when I worked sixteen-hour days somehow noticed immediately when another man asked me to dinner.
Or maybe it was the three years I'd spent loving someone who treated every emotion like a weakness.
"I'm going on that date," I said.
Marius's expression hardened.
"No."
One word.
Quiet.
Final.
I felt my heart pounding.
"You don't get to tell me no."
He came around the desk.
Slowly.
His height had always been intimidating. He was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair touched by silver at the temples and a face that rarely revealed what he was thinking.
His black shirt fit across his chest, and the expensive watch at his wrist caught the light.
He stopped several feet away.
"Elena, listen carefully."
I hated how my name sounded in his voice.
Like something personal.
Like something he'd been holding back.
"Marco Santini isn't interested in taking you to dinner."
"Then why did he ask?"
"Because he knows you work for me."
I folded my arms.
"And what exactly am I to you?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Marius went still.
I regretted it immediately.
Not because I didn't want the answer.
Because I'd wanted it for three years.
His gaze moved across my face.
"My assistant."
I felt something break.
Of course.
His assistant.
The woman who knew he hated sugar in his coffee.
The woman who remembered his mother's birthday when he forgot.
The woman who sat beside hospital beds after his men were injured and made arrangements for their families.
The woman who loved him in silence.
Just his assistant.
I swallowed.
"Then my dating life is none of your business."
I turned toward the door.
"Elena."
I kept walking.
"Elena, stop."
I reached for the handle.
Then his hand came against the door beside me.
I froze.
He hadn't touched me.
But he was close enough that I could smell his cologne.
Cedarwood.
Leather.
Something expensive and unmistakably his.
My heart betrayed me.
"Move," I whispered.
He didn't.
"Three years," he said quietly.
I closed my eyes.
"What?"
"Three years you've been standing beside me."
I stared at the door.
"That's generally how employment works."
"Three years of pretending."
My breath caught.
I turned slowly.
His face was inches from mine.
"What are you talking about?"
His eyes searched mine.
"Do you think I haven't noticed?"
I couldn't move.
"Noticed what?"
His voice lowered.
"The way you look at me when you think I'm not watching."
The air disappeared from my lungs.
My secret.
The one I'd protected with everything I had.
He knew.
I stepped backward, but the door stopped me.
"You're imagining things."
Marius gave a humorless smile.
"Am I?"
I lifted my chin.
"Yes."
He studied me.
Then he whispered, "Liar."
The word should have offended me.
Instead, it made my heart race.
I looked away.
"This conversation is inappropriate."
"Then tell me to stop."
I forced myself to meet his eyes.
"Stop."
He immediately stepped back.
The sudden space between us felt almost worse.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Marius reached into his pocket and removed a folded photograph.
He handed it to me.
I looked down.
The image showed Marco Santini standing beside a black car.
A second man stood next to him.
Older.
Silver-haired.
A scar crossing his left eyebrow.
I recognized him immediately.
My stomach dropped.
"That's impossible."
Marius watched my face.
"You know him."
I stared at the photograph.
The older man was supposed to be dead.
My father had told me he'd died seventeen years ago.
I looked up at Marius.
"Where was this taken?"
"Yesterday. Outside a private residence in Posillipo."
My fingers began trembling.
"That's my uncle."
Marius's expression changed.
"Your uncle?"
I nodded.
"Viktor Sokolov."
Marius went completely still.
Then he whispered something in Russian.
I barely heard him.
Because I was staring at the man who had vanished from my childhood.
The man my mother had warned me never to mention.
Marius took one step closer.
"Elena, I need you to tell me everything you know about Viktor."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
His expression had lost every trace of jealousy.
What remained was something far more frightening.
May you like
Fear.
"Because Viktor Sokolov was the man who ordered my father's murder."
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