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“What you know is just as valuable as what other people know. Never let them see what you know.”
She’s just like me. Is it narcissistic to say that I love that about her?
Why am I always punishing myself?
“And you are . . . Ivan’s girlfriend? Or escaped prisoner? I always get the two confused.” “Hmm,” Sloane says, also looking at me. “Unclear.” Jesus. I’m already regretting letting her inside.
“Did you eat yet?” Dom asks her. “I could eat more,” Sloane says. “That’s always my answer, too,” Dom says.
Dom watches her devouring the food with an expression of delight on his face. I’m not sure what he’s enjoying more: Sloane herself, or how much her presence has the potential to infuriate and embarrass me.
We’ve really got this fucker on the ropes.” I like the way she says “we.”
Just as Sloane is my equal in intelligence and determination, she needs a man who can match her raw sexuality. This woman could never be pleasured by an accountant. She needs a fucking gangster.
It’s Sloane herself—her face and expression and voice. The way she gives herself to me. I want to give her everything in the world in return.
“He used to say ‘It’s hard to fail—‘“ “‘But it’s worse never to have tried to succeed’,”
“Unequal marriages lead to unhappiness,”
I know exactly what it feels like to think you’re content, that you don’t need anything. And then to realize there’s something you need so badly that you can’t think how you ever lived without it . . .
“I was thinking you should send him a fruit basket,” Sloane says innocently. “After all, if he hadn’t hired me to kill you, we never would have met.”
I’ve tried a hundred times to tame this woman, but she has this rowdiness inside of her that can never be extinguished.
“Don’t worry,” she says, laying her hand on my forearm. “It was a pretty shitty apartment even before the grenade.” “I can see why you preferred the cell,” I reply.
The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them. Ernest Hemingway
“You’re mine forever, my little love,” Ivan says. “My own grim reaper.”
