“If it had nothing to do with me, then why wouldn’t she just tell me that? She knows I know who she is, but she’s still lying.”
Why do I even f*****g care? That’s the real question.
“Why do you even f*****g care?” Anatoly asks, reading my mind.
“Because it’s my job to know what is going on around here. If someone is lying to me, there’s probably a good reason. I want to know what it is.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “You haven’t seen this girl in, what? Four? Five years?”
“Okay, six years,” he amends. “I just don’t see how she could be relevant to anything we have going on.”
That’s what I’ve told myself for the last six years. Viviana doesn’t matter. I f****d her out of my system. I dealt with her.
Except, I didn’t. She’s still lodged in my chest like a piece of shrapnel I ca
