If this is how I look at chocolate, I owe the cocoa bean an apology.
Milosh—with a Russian last name I didn’t quite catch the first time—has been staring at me like I’m tonight’s main course. Or maybe the way I stare at a tray of freshly made brownies.
Again, my apologies, chocolate.
I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my amazing personality that had him ogling me in a way that had my skin crawling. His eyes didn’t just wander—they lingered, practically tracing every inch of me.
Yeah, I’ll never look at chocolate the same way again.
I’m pretty sure I’m using chocolate to keep me emotionally disengaged or from being icked out so that I can do what I need to do tonight—get the names of investors involved in Ramirez’s deal. Athena made it crystal clear that something big and dangerous will be going down. I have to finish this job no matter how many uncomfortable moments it brings.
From the moment I arrived at the steak house, my focus was to mingle with as many people as possible and collect names. So far I have three. And a half.
“Milosh, is that a family name?”
“It mean... beloved.” His breath is all vodka. “Very, how you say... caring.”
His icy blue eyes are predatory as they follow me, like he knows exactly what I’m up to, that I’m fishing for information. The discomfort in my chest grows, warning me it’s time to move on to my next target.
I glance around the restaurant. The air smells like seared meat, truffle butter, and expensive cologne, but beneath that there’s a quiet tension. Everyone is here for a reason, invited by the man holding court at the back table. Ramirez.
The jazz band isn’t playing loud and brassy music, but the slow, smooth kind that makes you think of deals being made in whispers. A few couples sway on the dance floor, but one pair catches my attention. They’re maybe in their late fifties or early sixties—around the age of my aunt and uncle—elegant, polished, moving in the kind of rhythm that reveals years of practice. They look like the kind of couple who hosts backyard barbecues, coaches their kids’ sports, and gives practical anniversary gifts. So how did they end up in this viper’s den of criminals? Are they here to invest in whatever the Aurelite-X deal is? Do they know what it is? Or why Athena is worried about it?
Maybe they don’t know.
I think back to my mom and how naive she’d been to trust Celeste Harlow. Celeste sold her this great story of increasing my father’s settlement so that we would be taken care of for the rest of our lives—no worries. Did Ramirez target this couple for their wealth? What lies has he fed them?
I’m ready to excuse myself to go meet them when Ben is suddenly standing in front me in a suit that fits him so perfectly, I momentarily forget to breathe.
“Cybil, I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”
Ben’s words are directed at me, but it’s clear from the way his sharp gaze is locked onto Milosh that he’s not just making small talk. There’s something in his expression, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface, that instantly puts me on edge. I don’t think it’s jealousy—after all,Milosh is at least thirty years older than me—but there’s definitely tension between the two men that makes my skin prickle.
A full breath finally fills my lungs, along with relief. Ben doesn’t even know he’s just helped me. “This is Milosh...” I press my lips together, looking embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I don’t remember your last name.”
“Kamarov,” Milosh responds, barely giving Ben a passing glance. “You are?”
“Craig.” Ben extends his hand, but his gaze slides to me for a fraction of a second, and I swear I see a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Craig Miller.”
Milosh ignores Ben’s offered handshake as though it’s beneath him, but Ben remains unbothered, hands slipping casually into his pockets before he turns his full attention to me.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Actually, I was about to—”
“Dance,” Ben interrupts smoothly, his voice low and commanding. Before I can react, he reaches for my hand, his fingers warm against my cool skin, his gaze never leaving mine. And unlike the repulsion I felt with Milosh, my body gravitates to him.
But I don’t have time to dance. I try to pull my hand back, but he’s already got a firm grip. Then he winks at someone behind me.
“Right, Mr. Edmond?”
Mr. Edmond, who has been in a separate conversation nearby, steps forward with a smile. “I think I’m going to have to agree with Craig. There’s always time for a dance.”
Not when I need to get names in a room full of criminals.
Mr. Edmond holds my gaze, leaning in. “Besides, I’d like to chat with Mr. Kamarov.”
My senses perk at this. I glance at Kamarov, and he’s watching the exchange with an interest that removes any chance to reject Ben’s offer. I don’t know how Mr. Edmond knows Kamarov, but their conversation could be crucial to Athena. I have no choice but to let it happen, hoping I can find out what it’s about later.
