Cassie snagged a tortilla chip. “Yeah. Not exactly my finest hour.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “But, in my defense, it’s not every day you find out the guy you’re sleeping with is connected to the mob.”

His mouth twitched. “That sounds like something out of a suspense movie. And, for the record,” he said clearly mimicking her prior statement, “you don’t know that I am mafiya. Nor, I suspect, do you have any real-world experience with what such a designation would mean.”

“You’re denying it?”

“Am I being interviewed?”

Oh, it was tempting. Terribly tempting.

But it felt all wrong. “No.” She scooped up another bite. “I’d just like to know who I’m dealing with.”

The comment sobered all sense of verbal play in an instant. While he didn’t move from his relaxed posture, there was an intensity behind his sky-blue eyes that unsettled her. “I am an honorable man, and—no matter my line of work or present affiliations—you will always be safe within my care.”

Within my care.

On the surface, it sounded deliciously romantic and stirred all those knights in shining armor ideals she’d once entertained. But that couldn’t be what he meant. Probably just one of those odd meanings that didn’t translate well from Russian to English. “So, you’re willing to let bygones be bygones, and you’re here to...what?” Pick up where we left off?

Did she want that?

Could she?

Just because he wouldn’t affirm what he did for a living didn’t mean he was innocent as the wind-driven snow.

He studied her. A deadly predator who clearly didn’t perceive her as a threat, but still might eat her for lunch just for fun. “You mentioned our last encounter proved to be beneficial for your career. I believe we may have more opportunity to work together for our mutual benefit.”

The greasy food in her stomach threatened to push its way back up her digestive tract, and she’d swear her lungs shrank to half the size they’d been ten seconds ago. Which was utterly stupid, really. A business relationship was a whole lot better than anything personal. Or it would be as soon as she figured out a way to expunge all memory of how he’d kissed and touched all the common sense right out of her.

She pushed her refried beans around on the plate and tried to rally her appetite. “Say more about that.”

He sat forward and crossed his arms on the table. “I need someone to help me formulate a list of individuals most impacted by Alfonsi’s disappearance, and you’ve spent a considerable amount of time dealing with those people.”

“Why?”

“Not a specific enough question. Elaborate.”

“Why do you need information on the people impacted by Alfonsi’s disappearance?”

His expression didn’t change, but there was steel in his voice. An uncompromising edge that said someone had crossed a line they should have avoided. “Because angry people tend to take rash actions. Rash actions aren’t good for my family.”