Page 113 of The Bratva Sinner

He’s quiet. His expression doesn’t give me much. I’m suddenly not hungry.

“I know it’s a lot,” I say. “I know my high school grades weren’t great, but I’d like to try.” I hear my hesitation. I wanted to sound confident, but I don’t feel it.

He puts down his fork. The silence stretches out long enough that my stomach starts to sink.

“You don’t want me to,” I say.

“That’s not what I said.”

“You haven’t said anything.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Thinking about what? Never mind. Forget I said anything." I push back from the table, self-conscious. "It was a stupid idea."

“Lila,” he says softly. “Stop.”

I won’t cry, but dammit, I want to.

He leans forward and looks me in the eyes. “I think it’s a good idea. A very good idea. You’d be exceptional at it. I’d love to help you achieve that dream.”

“Then why the face?”

He exhales slowly. “Because I want to say yes right now, and I can’t. Not safely.” He holds my gaze. “The situation with the Albanians isn’t resolved. It’s quieter than it was, but quiet isn’t over. Putting you on a college campus with thousands of people I can’t vet, in buildings I can’t secure, is a big risk.”

I feel the disappointment settle over me. Why am I asking? I’m an adult. I don’t have to ask anyone to do anything. He’s my husband, not my keeper. I should be able to choose my own risks. It’s me who’ll suffer if something happens.

“Lila.”

I don’t bother to hide my irritation. “What?”

“It’s too risky.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you think there will evernotbe a risk? It doesn’t have to be the Albanians. There will always be risks. I could get hit by a car crossing the street. A meteor could drop out of the sky while I’m in your bed. I have survived for nineteen years with people trying to kill me. Horses that are a lot bigger than men have tried to take me out. Assholes in school. Bitches that didn’t like the way I looked at them. I’m not afraid of risk.”

“I am.”

He says it so softly that it makes me stop. He’s not yelling. I stare into his eyes, and that’s when I see it. He’s the one who’s scared.

“I’m not saying no,” he says. “I’m saying not yet.”

I really want to argue, but I see the logic. I hate that I see it, but he has a point. That pisses me off, too.

“How long?” I ask.

“Let me handle this business first. When I know you’re not a target, I will personally drive you to the admissions office. I’ll carry your backpack if you want. I’ll sit in the parking lot and wait.”

He reaches over and takes my hand.

I look at the black diamond on my finger. My brand. A sign of who I belong to. It doesn’t feel like a shackle or being chained to him.

He’s keeping me alive. He’s only looked out for me. I have to believe him.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay?”

“I can wait.”