She’s also cracking under the pressure of whatever’s happening between us.
I can tell from how her pupils dilate and her skin flushes under my scrutiny. She wants me just as much as I—against my better judgment—want her.
Her hand drifts to her collarbone, her fingers brushing the hollow of her bare throat in an unconscious display of vulnerability. She catches herself and drops her hand, regaining control as she smooths down the front of her dress.
Could a trained, cold-blooded psychopath who enjoys tormenting her grieving father still be so wet behind the ears?
Easily.
If she spent the last fifteen years training, that would explain her skills. It’d also make for one seriously twisted chick.
Her gaze sweeps past my position twice before moving on, like I’m a shadow. A ghost in an expensive suit. When she doesn’t locate me, her face flashes with frustrated disappointment.
Poor little Nika. Not having the upper hand in your own backyard must suck.
I plan to stretch this out and force her to wait. She toyed with my family for a year. Set up a psychotic treasure hunt, planted false evidence, destroyed Sasha, used the Falcones to wear us down, and pitted us against each other.
She deserves to suffer.
And if I happen to enjoy the process? Well, bonus points.
I glide through the crowd, angling toward the silent auction tables on the far side of the ballroom, where I find an expensive, high-end Japanese knife set advertising elegant violence.
I stop in front of the display, awareness prickling along the back of my neck as that rose scent taunts my nose.
She emerges beside me, so close that I can feel her body heat.
“Have you ever used a Seido kitchen knife?” I keep my gaze on the blades. “Very sharp. Cuts through bone like butter.”
Tension radiates from her as she goes rigid.
She springs in front of me, blocking my view of the collection. Her dark eyes lock on mine with an intensity that would spur most men to retreat. “Where is my locket?”
I drink in Nika’s flushed cheeks, her parted lips, and the rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat.
My breath releases. “Why the rush, sweetheart?”
Her eyebrows draw together as her tongue darts out, wetting her top lip.
I lean over to whisper in her ear. “I’m still deciding whether I’m going to obey my Pakhan and bring you back alive or kill you. After the shit you’ve put us through, you deserve to die.”
Her silence speaks volumes. Nika knows she’s trapped in this dance. She can’t leave because I have the locket. She can’t murder me here because of all the witnesses and cameras.
We reach a table showcasing travel packages. Glossy marketing photos arranged in neat rows feature sunny beaches, mountain retreats, and night-lit European cities.
Nika focuses on a tropical paradise with a jagged coastline and almost artificially blue water. White foam crashes against dark rock at the base and climbs high against rough cliffs.
“Up, up, and up the stony stairs…”
I glance at her. “What?”
Nika studies the photograph, her eyes distant, her mouth soft. When she blinks, the moment shatters. “Nothing.”
Her face goes back to that cold mask. Whatever she was thinking, most likely it’s linked to Chaos Island just like everything else in her psycho game. She’s really stuck on that place.
I wonder what happened to her all those years ago. She was only a child, like Chloe, the kindergarten teacher Kolya Ilyin dragged into the family a few months ago. Vanya’s lady, Paige, was a teenager, and she’s still haunted by that night.
Just like Roman.
