Dominic

Who pulls your strings?

Dominic

"What are you doing?" She leaned over my arm, glancing at my phone. "Who are you messaging?"

The warmth of her body pressed against my side.

"Your fucking boss, Pakhan, or Don, or whatever the hell you call a Russian godfather."

"You've seen far too much television, Mina." I finished drafting a message to Tima in Russian, telling him I had the asset, then sent it off.

"So, who is it?"

"Who is what?"

"Don't play stupid." She sighed. "The person you texted. The one who pulls your strings. How far up does he go?"

"Could've been a female." I raised a brow for effect, then slipped my phone in my front pocket.

She stumbled, fell into my side, and grabbed onto me.

"See, I knew you liked touching me."

"Go fuck yourself!" She huffed. "You know what? I can't do this with you, Dom, because you're an ass." She stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, essentially jaywalking. "I'm done. We're done."

"Whoa." I caught up to her in a couple of steps, then latched onto her bicep. "Where do you think you're going?"

"As far away from you as I can get, and if you don't let go of my arm, I'm gonna scream."

"And why would you do that?"

"To get those officers' attention." She pointed at a couple of uniformed men on foot.

"And why exactly would you do that?"

"Why do you think?" A smile of contempt played upon her lips.

"Yasmina Ona Costa, don't even think about—"

"How dare you," she yelled with a heavy southern drawl, then slapped my face. "I'm not that kind of lady!"

A male cyclist slowed, and his gaze bounced between Mina and me. In seconds, she turned on what sounded like waterworks and sobbed hysterically in the middle of the road. A couple of cars drove around the spectacle unfolding, and then the motorists began to stop.

Horns sounded, drawing the eyes of the officers.

The cyclist approached her. "Are you okay?"

"I was waitin' for my brother," she sobbed in her hands, "and this man started followin' me, asking me personal questions about what kind of sex I like. And now, I don't know where I am."

When she looked up, she had red eyes, a flushed face, and tears sprung from her eyes.

My little actress was at it again, only this time, instead of observing her in the act, she turned me into one of the key players of her live theatrical production.

"What did you do to her?" The cyclist dismounted his bike, then used it to place a barrier between Mina and me.

"Nothing." I raised my hands in the air. "I don't want any trouble," then backed away and headed to the sidewalk.

The foot officers continued to watch from the other side of the street, migrating closer to the curb.

Mina and the cyclist carried on a short conversation just out of range, and he walked her to the other side of the road. Once there, she dried her tears, stuck a hand in the pocket of my suit jacket she had on, and to my surprise, she pulled out my fucking cell.

A smile bloomed on her lips, and she held the phone to her ear as if talking to someone, which I knew was utter bullshit.

There was no way she had gotten into my new phone. And then I saw it, the double nose twitch—the telltale sign that she was lying her ass off.