Metà (COMPLETED)

12. Mission Failed...?

Zhara POV

I placed a glass of wine in front of Erik and sat across from him. The light in the kitchen caused the glint in his brown eyes as he watched me sit.

"How'd you know," he asked, his accent rolling off his tongue near the end.

"I'm not in the FBI for the fun of it," I replied, taking a sip of my wine. He did the same and let out a sigh.

"What does he want," I asked. He ran a hand through his thick hair and across his jaw.

"He's just curious."

"Try again."

"He's been meaning to talk to you since everything happened," he responded.

"Ha! I'd ask why he waited so long, but it's definitely been more than just four years. Regardless, why now," I asked him.

"Like I said-."

"-why send you? You definitely didn't come to deliver that message. Asking me out to dinner? You came to stick around and implement yourself in my life in some way. No one does that unless they were sent to keep a close eye."

"You've been trained well," he replied with a smile.

"No, I just have common sense. Answer my question or I'll send you back to him—definitely not in the same way you left," I threatened. He stared at me for a while, smiled, and took another swig of wine.

"There's no return address for this package," he replied, pointing a finger at himself.

"Confirming my previous statement. So, why did he feel the need to send you to keep an eye on me? It's the last time I'm asking." I let my hair down from it's ponytail and took my gun out from my waist, placing it on the table.

Eriks eyes landed on the weapon and he leaned forward, resting his hands on the table.

"I can only say so much, Zhara."

I finished off my glass and rubbed my sleepy eyes. "Fine. I'll start the plan and you just tell me the end. You share an obvious resemblance to Marco Fiorentino, only you have brown eyes. That means my father saw you as my 'weakness' and believed this would be the easiest way for you to have constant intel on me," I began, adding air quotes.

"You're well trained, I can tell," I said while eyeing his bulging biceps. "So, you're definitely meant to be some sort of bodyguard. Which means he sent you to 'protect me'. The fact that he feels the need to protect me means something I don't know about is a) happening or b) about to happen. Your sudden appearance tells me it's the result of recent events. Nothing of his interest has happened here so it must have something to do with whatever y'all are doing out there. Am I right so far?"

"You were spot on... until the last part," he replied. I raised a brow.

"Okay. So what's going on down here?" He leaned back in his seat and played with the stem of the wine glass.

"He's afraid you've gotten yourself into something you don't need to be getting yourself into."

"That's very vague."

He smiled and continued. "Your job appears to have become a nuisance in his plans."

"What plans," I urged.

"That is above my, as you Americans say, pay grade. All I know is something you've been working on has stirred conversation on his end and he's been told to take care of it before it gets out of hand."

"So something I've done from here is somehow affecting him all the way there," I asked with a smirk.

"Correct." I processed his words and found myself drawing blanks.