“Can’t let you know about their real lives, hmm?”
“Something like that.” Alina runs her hand down my arm, pressing slightly against the inside of my elbow before moving to my wrist and rubbing against the inside of it. “Some people who use our services are pretty recognizable—politicians or celebrities. Those kinds of people don’t want to admit that the hookers know who they are, so we don’t say anything.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say with a chuckle. “I’m a senator in real life, you know.”
Alina cracks a smile and shakes her head a little. She reaches up and runs her finger down the bridge of my nose.
“I know exactly who you are, Evan Arden.”
I really don’t like the sound of that.
Chapter 12—Troubling Knowledge
A chill runs through me. It’s like finding out about Bridgett giving information to my nemesis all over again. Turning toward her, I take her chin in my hand and bring her face closer to mine.
“What precisely do you think you know about me?” My voice is strained, and I’m quite aware of how easily I could snap her neck as she sits beside me.
Alina looks at me, her face going pale. She knows how easily I can kill her; it’s reflected in her eyes. She wets her lips with her tongue as I wait impatiently for an answer.
“You’re…you’re Evan Arden, Rinaldo Moretti’s right-hand man.”
“And?”
“You’re his cleaner.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“His…his hit man,” she whispers.
I’m not surprised that she knows this much, but I’m a little shocked she came right out and said it. Knowing about it is one thing. I rely on my reputation to keep Rinaldo’s enemies at bay. Admitting you know—actually coming out and saying it—isn’t something people usually do. I tighten my fingers on her jaw.
“Is that what you think?”
She’s starting to shake, and there are tears forming in the corners of her eyes. I slide my thumb a little ways down, up against her throat. I can feel her swallow.
“It’s just what…what I heard.”
“People ask you about me? You tell them shit?”
She swallows again and grips my forearm with her fingers. The panic in her eyes is reflected in her voice.
“I haven’t talked to anyone, Evan—I swear I haven’t. Not even to Loretta, and she’s my best friend and always asking about you.”
“What does she ask?”
“I don’t say anything.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“She asks why I put up with you. She doesn’t think I should keep coming here.”
This is not news to me. Loretta has made it pretty clear how she feels about me, and I don’t really care. What kind of response is given—that I care about. I take a deep breath.
“What do you say to her?”
“Mostly to mind her own business. She should worry about her own clients, not mine.”
I stare at her intently, and I see no lie reflected in her face or posture. Despite how little I know about Loretta, I still find it easy to imagine such an exchange. I loosen my grip on Alina’s face, run my thumb across her lips, and lean in to kiss her lightly.