Demitri switches on the TV and then presses play on where I last left off with Vampire Diaries. His demeanor is relaxed as he sips on his coffee, which reminds me of my own beverage. I take a sip and swallow hard on the liquid.

The nightmare keeps flitting through my mind, and I end up staring at the coffee table, trying to process the chaotic mess it left in my chest.

“Want to talk about it?” Demitri asks, his tone soft instead of the usual briskness.

I shake my head, and unable to force the coffee down, I place the cup on the table.

Residual panic still tightens my chest, and I pull the blanket up to beneath my chin, then curl up against the armrest.

It was just a nightmare.

But for how long? It can become my reality at any moment.

I was starting to forget who Demitri is. A killer.

And someone wants me dead because of my father.

Is this what my life will be like if I manage to survive Demitri? Will it be one hit after the other until I can’t escape and end up dead?

A wretched sob builds in my chest, and I focus hard to keep it down.

Was I living a lie thinking I could live a separate life from my father’s?

I never asked questions. I never had any interest in what my father did for a living. I was just happy whenever I got to talk to him or see him. To me, he was just Dad.

My voice sounds empty when I ask, “Has anyone ever escaped the Bratva?”

Taking a deep breath, Demitri sets his cup down next to mine, and then he pauses the episode that’s been playing on the TV.

Leaning back against the couch, he answers, “The Bratva isn’t coming after you.”

“Who is it? Who ordered the hit on me?”

When Demitri keeps quiet, I turn my head to look at him. Our eyes lock, and then he shakes his head.

“You don’t know, or you’re not going to tell me?” I ask.

His eyes search mine for something, then he says, “I’m not going to tell you. Not yet.”

“Why?”

As Demitri looks at me, I realize this is the most human he’s looked since we met. There’s no warning shining from his eyes. There’s no annoyance or anger.

Instead, there’s compassion and something else… something that actually has a calming effect on me.

“You’re dealing with enough shit. One thing at a time.”

The longer I stare into Demitri’s eyes, the more it feels like a cocoon is wrapping around me. One where my old life and my daunting reality can’t find me. Softly, I murmur, “I thought you didn’t care.”

“I’m not the monster you think I am.”

Needing to get to know Demitri better, I say, “Then tell me something about you other than that you’re a killer.”

Demitri breaks eye contact with me, turning his face toward the sliding doors and the dark night beyond the glass.