The implication hangs in the air as Natasha waits for Clara to look down in shame.
But Clara doesn't flinch. Instead, she straightens, her smile blossoming into something that is both devastatingly beautiful and absolutely terrifying. The warmth in her hazel eyes sharpens to a glare.
“Thank you, Natasha.” She steps closer, moving slightly out of my protective circle. “That’s actually a wonderful observation. I do find that I have prioritized mental agility and strength over anything else. It makes it much easier to run circles around the competition, and any man who is worth it appreciates my type of attributes.”
Natasha’s cruel smile falters, dissolving instantly into cold rage. Clara has not only bitten back, but she's used Natasha’s own superficial measure to deliver a lethal comeback.
My anger, which had been ready to fly to Clara's defense, becomes another surge of pride. I step forward, letting my hand slide back around Clara’s waist. My woman is razor sharp and beautiful, and her words can be lethal.
“I want you to know, Tasha,” I say, making sure to meet her eyes, “any further commentary about Clara, her appearance, her presence, or her abilities, will be regarded as commentary about me. Do you understand?”
“Oh, trust me, you are making damn sure everyone in this room knows that.”
My blood runs cold at the new voice speaking behind me, one that belongs to a predator who disguises his psychosis behind tailored suits and a disarming smile. The architect of chaos whowants my empire, and the one I suspect is responsible for the attempts on Clara’s life.
Tonight he is dressed in a crimson velvet suit so deep, it’s nearly black. His mouth is stretched into one of those half smiles that others find so charming. To me, it’s sinister.
“Andrey.” I keep my expression cold and unreadable as my arm tightens around Clara, pulling her closer, fully ready to defend her.
“Miss Benson.” I tense as Andrey’s gaze glides over to Clara. “It’s lovely to see you again. You’ve certainly achieved quite a lot since our last conversation.”
“I’m just doing my job, Mr. Mikhailov,” Clara says, her tone polite and professional. I watch as she regards him in return, hoping she is classifying him as the highest level of threat that he is.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Or is this actually part of your job description?” Andrey’s gaze drops briefly to Clara’s waist, where my arm is curled, then returns to her face. I feel her body go rigid with a sharp intake of breath.
I’m about to ask her if she’s okay when I realize she’s paled again. Andrey laughs, a sound of amusement that doesn't reach his eyes. “I’m shocked the news isn’t being passed around the room tonight. Though I must say, Dmitri, I’m a little hurt I didn’t hear it from you first.”
“What news?”
Andrey leans in close, dropping his voice.
“The good news, of course. About thepregnancy.”
The word detonates in my chest.
I look at Clara, hoping to see denial on her face, hoping she will protest loudly that it is a lie, so I know that Andrey is only trying to stir up trouble, except Clara looks stricken, her face ash-pale, Andrey’s smile is victorious and full of malice as he steps back to survey his handiwork.
The roomspins, the music fades, and everything around me warps. All I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears and the sound of a single bullet being fired. All I can see is the blood on Lauren’s dress, the sight of my life being torn apart. Lauren’s ghost is no longer a memory in this moment, but a living, breathing horror, suffocating me.
It’s a lie. A line to throw me off my game. It has to be.
But when Clara doesn’t deny it, I know it’s not just another of Andrey’s twisted games. It is a targeted, devastating strike designed to dismantle me.
I am certain Clara would never have told Andrey a thing, which means the mole is high up, deep inside my most trusted circle, someone who knew before I did.
My hands clench into fists, my nails biting into the skin of my palm. The primal urge to break Andrey, to squeeze the life out of him with my own two hands right here in front of everyone, is so overwhelming, it's physically painful.
Andrey smiles, watching me internally collapse with obvious enjoyment. “Don’t look so shocked, Dmitri. Rumors travel fast when a man in your position finds happiness. And a baby, an heir, that’s stabilizing news for everyone, isn’t it?”
Then, knowing he has thrown me entirely off balance, he pivots to his true attack.
“Speaking of stabilization,” Andrey continues, his smile widening as he slips his hands carelessly into his pockets, a cat playing with its prey. “I hear the investigation into your holding companies is heating up—lots of loose ends, Dmitri. People are getting nervous. They're asking questions, curious about your capable command over yourbratva.”
He pauses, leaning in close once again. “You know, old traditions die hard. We still have the right to call for a vote of no confidence at the quarterly meeting, especially if thepakhanof abratvais seen as a liability to the rest of us. It seems as though you might be distracted by domestic concerns, or perhaps you’ve lost control of your own house. You wouldn’t want to lose another set, now would you? Maybe this time, you can do a better job protecting them. And you’d better do it all before the nextbratvaconvocation. Your time is slipping away.”
The threat hangs in the air, along with the knowledge that Andrey knows so much more than he’s letting on. I see red. The control I’ve built, the iron discipline, the impenetrable facade, it all shatters as Andrey drags my dead wife and son, mybratva, and the specter of a new tragedy into his play for power.
My body reacts purely on instinct; I’m a killing machine focused on his throat. My arm is already moving, ready to drag him to the floor and end his charade right here tonight, like I should have done years ago.
