Page 45 of Twisted Little Game

It’s all the answer I need. He won’t call it the mafia, out of pride or ego or God knows what. But I know what Bratva means. The Petrov family is the goddamn fucking Russian mob, clearly operating with ties all the way into New York City, which means it’s big.

“Okay,” I tell him.

I swear I see a sort of pain in his eyes. “You are safe here, Tate,” he tells me again for the hundredth time. “I promise that I will keep you safe.”

So many more questions orbit inside my chest.

He told me the truth.

He could have lied. Could have said his family owns a car business, or something. But he gave me the truth.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” I say. “If I didn’t ask?”

He shakes his head instantly. “Certainly not.”

“So you get to follow me around and know everything about me, but it doesn’t go the other way?”

He squints through the front windshield, looking out at the front of the diner. “The less you know about my life, the better. Trust me.”

He throws the car into reverse and the door is closed on conversation.

Soon we’re driving back up toward campus, taking the road around to the side that goes down onto Red Row.

When I look over at Roman, I see everything about him in a new light, now.

The tattoos.

The scars on his hands.

His raw strength, and the way he slightly frowns as he looks out the front windshield.

I can’t even look at the beaded black bracelet on his wrist without wondering if it’s something more. It loops around his wrist three times, so it could be long enough to be a weapon. Does he choke people to death with it?

He stops the car to pause extra long at a crosswalk when an old lady hobbles by on a walker. He smiles out through the window at her, giving her a polite wave.

The same man who was just standing like a stone, witnessing murders.

The man who is supposed to protect me.

7

Roman

Back at Onyx House, my frustration rises to a fever pitch with Tate.

After getting back, I head upstairs and rinse off in the shower. When I head back down, I find Tate in the front room with Hunter, Rayne, and Ollie, and all of the guys are doubled over laughing at some story Tate is telling them.

He’s astonishingly quick to make friends, and far too quick to pretend his life isn’t important.

When he found out the truth about me, he handled it well.

Better than expected, honestly.

But now he’s doing that thing again where he looks like a ray of sunshine, even though I know he’s fucking freaking out deep inside.

I need to talk to him.

One on one.