I tried to line everything up in the right order. The bar, the drinks I had, the chaos, and passing out. So, how did I wake up in this room with a ring that was apparently now mine, whether I agreed to it or not? An entire night had passed somewherebetween that bar and this bedroom.
If he brought me here, it meant he also undressed me. That was a thought I was going to put down and walk away from before it made things worse.
I looked at the ring again. It sat there as if my finger had been waiting for it.
Everything else could wait, but I needed to see my brother with my own eyes first.
I started opening doors, looking for my clothes. The third door stopped me.
The wardrobe was enormous, with shelves, rails, and drawers arranged as well as the rest of this place. But what pulled the air from my lungs was what stood in the center.
A silver dress on a mannequin fell in clean, heavy lines from a structured bodice and tapered into a skirt with a long slit cut up one side. The neckline dipped into a V, simple enough to let the dress speak for itself. But the necklace draped around the mannequin’s neck made sure nothing else in the room got a word in.
I knew it. It was the necklace that could end several lives if the wrong person decided it should.
I stood there for a moment, just breathing.
This man had a plan. Nobody built all of this, the lawyer, the ring, the dress, the necklace, and the tutor for my brother, for a reason as simple as just marrying them.
I needed to think of my own plan. Because I was already inside this, and the door I came through was no longer visible from where I stood.
Chapter Eleven
Dmitri Konstantinov
Two birds. One stone.
Tonight’s auction was where money found a voice and deals slid across glass rims. Everyone would leave convinced they owned the world. But beneath the polish, the room was a net, stretched tight and waiting. The moment Iker stepped through those doors, he walked straight into my trap.
Guests began arriving as the sun went down. Some dropped in from the rooftop where their jets had landed. Others pulled up in cars, with security surrounding them. I had my own men folded into the edges of the building and the one across the street. They watched from positions that no one would suspect them of being snipers. I had built enough of these events to know they could go two ways. Tonight was not going the wrong way.
The viewing room was filled with guests. The jewelry pieces sat in their lit vitrines, drawing attention and making the price tags feel inevitable. I wasn’t looking at the pieces. My eyes were on the entrance, watching for the one person who hadn’t walked in yet.
Akim’s last update was that Inna was ready. I had sent a team to the penthouse to get her ready, to make sure she stood out and no one would miss her. She would walk through that door, and every eye would find her, the way eyes always found whatever cost the most.
I was using an outsider, and I knew what that meant. I spent my life holding Bratva rules that didn’t allow anyone from outside the circle into the middle of it. You didn’t hand them something you weren’t prepared to lose.
But Inna was just a bait, and once this was done, she would go back to her life, and I would go back to mine.
Isabella Duval caught my attention as she walked toward me. Her presence at this event told me the evening would end well.
Isabella was a French heiress. A socialite who ran a luxury fashion brand in Paris that had more reputation than revenue. Her real passion was rare gems, and that left a paper trail if you knew where to look. I found her through a bid she made on a piece in Europe. I quietly tracked her transactions, and she became considerably more useful.
She came toward me wearing a smile and a dress that was doing serious work. “Mr. Konstantinov.”
My eyes moved over her briefly. The dress deserved the attention, and she had clearly made peace with that before she put it on. On a different occasion, we could have taken this to a quieter room.
“Mademoiselle Duval. Toujours attentive aux bonnes expositions, je vois.” (Miss Duval, always attentive to the right exhibitions, I see.)
She lifted one shoulder the way French women did when they were pleased. “Votre collection est… fascinante. J’ai hâte de voir les pièces en personne.” (Your collection is… fascinating. I look forward to seeing the pieces in person.)
“They are.” I let a beat pass. “Et seuls certains savent vraimentapprécier ce qu’ils voient.” (And only some truly know how to appreciate what they see.)
She nodded with a smile. My eyes stayed on her lips for a moment, just long enough for her to see. She wasn’t exactly my type, but I couldn’t mind a night to highlight this moment.
“Il faut savoir reconnaître la valeur,” she said. (One must know how to recognize value.)
I leaned in slightly. Her perfume was exotic and floral, the kind applied with intention. I appreciated that in women.
