He’s leaning against a barstool, his back straight. I don’t see anything in front of him. No phone, nobook. Was he just sitting in the dark and staring at a wall?
He turns to me and his blank expression pulls down into a scowl. “Belle.”
Whoever he is, he doesn’t like me. I’d say the feeling is very mutual.
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours. Who are you?”
The man stands up from where he was sitting at the island, but doesn’t make any move to respond.
“You’re Greek, right? I remember you saying something about that earlier.”
When he left the house earlier, he mentioned Nikolai letting him know when the Bratva didn’t hate theGreeks anymore. I was still too stunned to comprehend the conversation then. Are Nikolai and thisguy friends? That doesn’t compute.
He still doesn’t respon
