ASYA’S POV
“The guy who took me wasn’t Albanian. At least, I don’t think he was,” I say, my voice trembling.
“Mishka, don’t.” Pasha places his palm on my cheek. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“I was at a bar with my sister,” I continue. “We used fake IDs to get in. All we wanted to do was go dancing. A guy approached us. He was handsome. Charismatic. Made us both laugh. He didn’t have an accent. I would have remembered if he did. Sienna decided to go home early. She had Pilates the next morning. I stayed.”
“Didn’t you have bodyguards with you?”
“No. We snuck out of the house and took a taxi to the bar. Arturo always got furious when we did that.”
His finger moves down to trace my chin.
“I thought he was funny. That guy,” I say. “He said his name was Robert.
