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I feel the eyes of the guests on me as I step outside, and I remember then that I’m not alone. I can feel the presence of Aleks’s men, hiding in plain view. They’re ready and able to fight.
“Saul, one of your best friends is here,” I say with a fake laugh.
He narrows his eyes.
I continue innocently. “Mario Rossi. Down by the garden out back. He said he had something to talk to you about?”
That part’s a lie, but I know Aleksandr heard every word and he’ll follow through to make sure Saul goes where we’re planning.
“Rossi? What the fuck is he doing here?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Who knows? I didn’t invite him. I heard he had to talk to you though. Seems like a nice guy.”
The last part was said only to needle him.
I hand him the drink and easily quell my shaking. No one needs to get the best of me.
“I’ll go see Rossi.” Saul leaves and fortunately Marco leaves with him.
I’m alone with the asshole.
“Your drink?” I ask him. “I really can’t shake the feeling that you’re so familiar.”
He grunts. “Yeah, a drink. Beer. Something in a bottle.”
Perfect. Glass cuts and blood will confirm DNA. Easy peasy. All in a day’s work.
I take my drink and his and when I hand him his, I pretend it slips in my hand. It predictably shatters on the ground next to him.
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry.” I clumsily fumble with the broken pieces of glass. I reach over to him. “Did it get you?” I slice the sharp glass against his palm.
He pulls back with a roar.
Pussy.
“Ohhh, you’re cut.”
“You cut me!”
“I amsosorry,” I say, with a shake of my head. The look in his eyes makes me glad he’s hurt. If Aleksandr Romanov wasn’t my husband, I’d be dead meat.
Still, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so happy to see blood.
“Oh no! Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I lie, reaching for a tissue. “You’re cut.”
I dab at his hand with the tissue, but he yanks away and glares at me. “I’m fine. Jesus.”
Nikko, dressed like a waiter, comes by with a tray and helps us gather the shards of glass and empties. He takes the bloodied tissue as well and whisks everything away.
“Let me get you another drink.”
I ignore his scowl as I go back to the bartender and give her a nod, pointing to a particular glass bottle. She’s been prepped ahead of time.
We considered giving him the same type of drug he gave me, but that would cause him to lose memory. I won’t allow that.
He’ll remember every damn minute.
She slips a drug in that will cause physical weakness and disorientation.
