“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
Chapter Ten
Angelika
Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.
Tolyan said it with a faint smile, and his voice was soft and low. But it sounded like a vow.
And it’s the most wonderful thing anybody has said to me in a long, long time. My entire body sags and the air tastes sweeter and…freer. I realize a huge weight has been lifted.
The skin around my eyes heats, and I bury my face in my hands as tears pour down.
I know the struggle isn’t over. Roy is still out there. But now I’m not alone. And that means everything to me.
I hear chair legs moving on the marble floor. A moment later, a warm hand rests on my shoulder.
“Kleenex,” Tolyan says.
The Dobermans whine and lick my arms and hands and rub against my legs, as though they’re trying to comfort me with their bodies. I wipe my face with my hands, then use the Kleenex to dry my face and blow my nose.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice nasal. “I don’t mean to cry. I’m just so relieved.”
“You don’t have to hold back,” Tolyan says. “If you want to cry, cry.”
I can’t think of a time somebody told me to cry if that’s what I wanted. Most say, “Don’t cry,” or “Don’t be sad,” or “It’s all going to work out.”
“I don’t want to make you feel bad,” I say finally. It’s terribly important that Tolyan knows I don’t want to burden him with my emotional issues, on top of stopping Roy, which he already agreed to.
“Only a weak man feels bad when a woman cries.”
I stare at him. I’ve never heard a man say that. Ever.
“A strong man bears her tears. Then—if he so wishes—he eliminates the source of her distress.”
His coolly confident tone says he is easily capable of the latter. If this were some other guy, I might think he was bragging, but Tolyan is no braggart. I’ve seen him in action. His dogs offer him absolute obedience. He can slip in and out of somebody’s home undetected…and do things that most people can’t do.
He doesn’t care what people think of him. He doesn’t care about meeting expectations, either. He can be cruel and cold to a seemingly distressed woman, and can be surprisingly kind to a waiter.
He’s arrogant. Snobbish. But affectionate and firm with his dogs. Protective when he wants to be.
There are a lot of contradictions, and honestly speaking, I shouldn’t feel safe with him. He could change at any moment and show his cruel side.
But I do.
“Want some ice cream?” he asks. “It usually makes women feel better. I’d offer vodka, but…”
“Ice cream would be wonderful,” I say with a teary smile. “Thank you. And can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he says, going to the kitchen.
“What’s with that spring thing you were squeezing?”
“It’s a valve spring. From a car engine. In my line of work, it’s important to have a strong grip.” He brings me a bowl of ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup. The syrup is an unexpected touch. He doesn’t seem like he’d be the fussy type with something like dessert.
After handing me the ice cream and a spoon, he drinks more vodka and absent-mindedly pets his dogs.
“Since you’re going to be here, you should know their names. This is Tchaikovsky. He’s the oldest and most disciplined.”