Forty-Two

Mikhail

I glance back at Maria, and her gaze is curious as she stumbles after me down the narrow flight of stairs. My own oversight led to the door being unlocked that other day, and I can hardly blame Maria’s curiosity for wanting to know what was in the room.

After all, she was granted freedom to roam and explore the penthouse, and I set no boundaries.

I didn’t expect her to wander down there. As much as I dislike the idea that she’s caught a glimpse of a piece of me that I keep hidden from the world, a part of me is secretly glad she’s seen it.

I wasn’t ready to tell her the truth then. But I am now. I want her to see me for more than the wealthy criminal she thinks I am.

Her eyes widen when we stand before the heavy door. Fear creeps into their hazel depths as she imagines one terrifying scenario after another.

“Mikhail, please,” she begs. “I didn’t mean to snoop. I?—”

I cut her off with a stare. “Do you trust me?”

“I …” she stammers, but her denial dies in her throat as curiosity