"And you've got your demons, and, darling, they all look like me,"
~ Sad Beautiful Tragic, Taylor Swift

Six Months Later

"How are you feeling?"

I looked over at Roman, a smile taking over my face. His hand found mine.

"Good," I replied softly, my eyes sliding shut again. "That was nice. Your family's lovely."

"They like you," he said, gently squeezing my hand.

"Thank you," I mumbled, "for showing me your home."

"Thank you for wanting to see it."

I smiled in response. When the plane finally landed and we'd went to retrieve our baggage, I told Roman I had to go to the bathroom and walked off. I walked towards the restroom, grateful there wasn't anyone in there. I stepped inside and looked at myself in the mirror.

Sometimes I hardly recognized myself. My fingers combed through my hair, which I'd cut shorter almost two months ago. I was just about to reapply my lipstick when my butt buzzed. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen.

Have you landed safely in New York? - M

I sighed and typed back a reply, letting him know I had. I'm sure he'd report that to his boss immediately.

Not that I cared.

When I returned to Roman, he had our luggage in his hands.

"Car's outside," he said when I approached him.

We walked towards the exit, me holding the door open for him so he can get through with both our bags. He put our stuff in the trunk and then held the car door open for me.

"Take us home," he told his driver.

*****

"Any plans for tomorrow?" I asked several hours later after we'd settled back in. I stood in the doorway to his office, casually watching him as he counted money on his desk. He pushed another stack of cash into the pile on the left, mentally adding that up. It had to be thousands. More.

"I have some business to handle early tomorrow morning," he muttered, his eyes barely raising to meet mine. "It'll take a few hours."

My eyes drifted over his shoulder to the large self portrait of him. "Okay."

"Please don't sound so disappointed."

I wasn't disappointed, and I wondered why he thought I sounded that way. Instead of correcting him, I shrugged slightly and allowed the corner of my lips to twitch.

"You've been handling a lot of...business lately."

"Neila."

"Roman." I matched his tone evenly. "I don't care what you do, okay? Just be careful."

"Always, kroshka."

I left him to his money and migrated to the sitting room. I switched on the tv and relaxed back on the couch. Fifteen minutes into the show, my phone vibrated again. I glanced at the screen, my face falling when I saw his name.

I answered anyway.

"Yes?"

"Lunch tomorrow at two. A driver will pick you up."

"And will I be having lunch with you, Marino, or your boss?"

"As much as I enjoy your company, I have other things to attend to." Marino's tone was light. "I'm assuming you will tell Petrov?"

I sighed dramatically. "Actually, no."

"No?" He repeated, his voice taking on a higher pitch, as if he were surprised by my answer. "And why is that?"

"Because there will be nothing to tell him. This lunch is not happening."

"Scusami?"

"Tell him that if he wants to have lunch, he can call me and arrange it himself."

There was a long pause, and Marino suddenly took on a more serious tone. "He's very busy, Neila."

"As am I. Thanks for calling."

"Neila—!"

I hung up.

*****

The doorbell rang, and I went to answer it. My eyes narrowed when I saw who was on the other side.

"May I help you?"

He took off his hat, I assume as some form of respect and smiled slightly. "Afternoon, Miss. I'm here to take you to your lunch date with—"

"No."

"Miss—"

"Tell Niccolò to fuck off, please and thanks."

"I really shouldn't. Couldn't."

"Wouldn't," I mocked. "Then improvise!"

Before I could close the door, his foot was in the way. "I was told to not take no for an answer, miss."

"What are you going to force me? Do you know whose house you're standing in front of right now?"

"Roman Petrov's. I'm aware."

"Are you aware of what he'd do if—"

"He said you will come willingly."

I sighed. "I'm afraid he's wasted your time."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" A voice called out. Goosebumps formed on my skin and my eyes searched for the source of the sound. My eyes locked on the tinted window of the car as it rolled down, revealing Niccolò in the flesh. He wore shades over his eyes. "Let's go, Neila. I do not have all day."

His voice, as cold and calm as it always had been, sent chills through me. Rolling my eyes, I reached beside me to grab my coat off the coatrack and followed the driver to the car. He opened the door for me and I slipped inside. The second the door closed, the awkwardness settled in.

I hadn't seen him—hadn't even spoken to him in months and yet here he was. He looked just about the same, except he was tanner and he was sporting a five o' clock shadow. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared out the window as the driver got into his seat and pulled away from Roman's mansion-like home.

"You cut your hair," Niccolò noted, no hint of uneasiness in his tone.

Slowly, my head turned until I could stare blankly at him.

"Suits you."

I ignored that and faced ahead.

"Are you going to ignore me the entire time?"

When I didn't respond, he grumbled under his breath. "Still as fucking childish as I remember."

"Seems so," I replied haughtily. I glanced his way. "You look good. How was Italy?"

"It was home," he said. He licked his lips and sat up a bit. "We have much to catch up on."

"Yes."

"How was Ukraine?"

"That's not what you're really asking me."

"Then why don't you answer what I'm really asking you?"

"Because I haven't heard from you in five months, and you deserve nothing from me."

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "Then we should properly reacquaint ourselves, shouldn't we?"

I pushed him away.

His lips opened and closed, before realization settled in. "Ah. You're still angry."

"No."

"Yes." He tilted his head to the side, eyes scanning my face. "I was a bit harsh."

"Don't think for a second I've been sitting around thinking about you. I don't care, Nic. I got something great out of it."

"Something great?" He repeated, his lips twitching. "You've gotten better at lying, but know I can see right through you. Roman Petrov means nothing to you."

"You mean nothing to me."

"Well, that's a lie." He reached up and stroked my cheek. "You said so yourself."

I slapped his hand away. "Roman Petrov takes care of me."

"You don't need anyone to take care of you. I believe you said that as well."

He smiled and for a moment, I forgot why I was angry. I wanted to lean in and kiss him. The thought entered my mind and left so quickly, I couldn't be sure if I'd meant it. The car slowed to a stop. The driver climbed out and opened Niccolò's door. Nic climbed out, walked around the car, and opened mine. He extended his hand to me, and after a moments hesitation, I took it and let him help me out the car. He closed the door behind me and led me towards a restaurant.

I expected him to take me inside, but instead he pulled me to sit at a table outside.

"It's a beautiful day, no?" He smiled as he picked up the menu.

"Can we not drag this out? What do you want?"

"Hm?"

"What. Do. You. Want?"

He put down the menu, and his eyes met mine. "I want what I've always wanted. To take down Roman Petrov."

"Okay, no," I hissed, leaning forward. "I don't know what your deal is with him, but give it a fucking rest already. You don't need his money, and you two don't even speak. Why would he still be on your hit list?"

"Did he say that? That we don't talk?" He raised an eyebrow. "He's always been on my list, Neila. And we had a deal."

"A deal you voided when you told me to get the fuck out."

"Then consider it back in action," he shrugged, picking up the menu again.

"That is not how this works. I'm free. You—"

"I'm a cold son of  bitch. And you will never be free of me." He raised a hand, signaling for a waitress. "What will you be having?"

"Not hungry," I growled.

"You sure?" He didn't wait for a response and instead turned to the waitress and rattled off his order. "Suit yourself."

"I can tell him."

He laughed. "What?"

"Roman. I can tell him what you're planning."

"Oh, yes. Please do. Tell Roman that you're a whore who agreed to help me steal his fortune by getting him to fall in love with you. I'd say you were pretty successful with the latter, good on you."

"I don't have to tell him that. I could just tell him you just asked me to help you steal his money."

The waitress returned with two glasses of water. After thanking he, he turned back to me.

"You could." He took a sip of his water. "You won't though."

"The hell makes you think that?"

"I know it's been five months, but everything you said is still fact—even now. You tell him, and he will attempt to kill me. Is that something you're okay with? Watching me die?"

Yes.

"So you admit he's stronger. You admit he can kill you."

"I'm not indestructible. Neither is he, and I could kill him too if I'd liked." He leaned back. "It's not just what you said. It's the money. He trusts you. You've seen how much money he has. It could all be yours—you're telling me you'd give that chance up?"

I scoffed. How stupid did he think I was?

"All of it wouldn't be mine. I was offered only one percent, remember?"

"I remember. But things have changed since then, haven't they?" The waitress brought his food and he licked his lips, thanking her in his native tongue. "We can split it fifty-fifty. Sixty-forty if you'd like, with me receiving the lesser end."

This was all just a game to him. I refused to play.

"No."

He didn't seem surprised. "Think it over, bella. Think about what you'd be giving up."

I stood up. "Tell your driver to take me home."

"Home," he scoffed.

"Now, Niccolò!" I snapped.

He inhaled deeply. "Fine. Go ahead, he'll take you home."

Rolling my eyes, I turned to leave, but his hand caught my wrist and he pulled me back. He stood to his full height and cupped my cheek with his hands, his thumb gently sliding across my bottom lip. He dipped forward, his lips pressing against mine in a chaste kiss. Then he pulled away, sat down, and picked up his fork.

"Talk soon," he said confidently, his lips lifting into an arrogant smirk.