I wore a black suit, one hand around Vivienne's waist, cutting through the writhing bodies on the dance floor.
She'd worn a dangerously hot black slip dress today. Red lips like blood.
From the moment we walked through the door, sticky male gazes clung like flies—until they caught the death in my eyes and Sasha behind us, then jerked away in fear.
Just as I was about to take her upstairs to the exclusive VIP room,I stopped.
In a dim booth in the corner sat someone who had absolutely no business being on my turf.
Carmine Marchetti.
That old fox held a martini, his perpetually fake smile especially sinister in the strobe lights.
Seeing me, he actually stood up like some long-lost friend, carrying his drink toward us.
Every muscle in my body went taut. Combat-ready.
I shifted Vivienne behind me.
"Nikolai! Never expected to run into you here, my old friend." Carmine's smile squeezed wrinkles around his eyes, his narrow gaze snaking up my body, over my shoulder to Vivienne.
His smile deepened. "This must be the famous fiancée who's got the Pakhan head over heels. Reputation doesn't do you justice. I heard about that little 'trouble' at the charity gala the other day. Been meaning to apologize in person—you know how it is, young people don't know the rules yet."
His "trouble"—naturally referring to the three scouts I'd disposed of.
The old bastard was openly provoking me.
"My territory stays clean, Carmine." I stared at him coldly, not a trace of warmth in my gray eyes. "Occasionally, some cockroaches wander in that don't know any better. Just crush them, toss them in the trash. No need for your apologies. You should worry more about watching your own sewers—keep that dirty water from flowing where it shouldn't."
Carmine's fake smile froze momentarily, but he quickly recovered that nauseating expression, raising his glass. "Of course. The Volkov family's efficiency has always been admirable."
"Excuse us." I didn't bother with even surface courtesy, forcefully steering Vivienne by the waist. "My fiancée can't stand cheap cologne."
I gave him no chance to respond. Just took Vivienne upstairs.
The second-floor VIP room was absolute privacy wrapped in one-way bulletproof glass. I had Sasha clear everyone who'd originally booked this space tonight. Just us two.
Sealed off from the deafening music downstairs, the room went instantly quiet.
The moment Vivienne settled into the leather sofa, she wrinkled her nose like a dog catching danger.
"Nikolai." She looked up, sharp light flashing in those blue eyes. "That old guy. Something was really off about his smell."
I sat beside her, arms casually draped on the sofa back. "What did you smell?"
"Not cheap cologne. A really pungent smell with a sweet edge, chemical. Kind of like... industrial solvents I read about researching crime novels."
Appreciation flickered in my eyes. This woman's instincts were sharper than the most precise detector.
"Trichloroethylene," I spoke the word coldly. "Industrial degreasing solvent."
Vivienne blinked, caught up fast. "Why would he smell like that?"
"Carmine used to run a massive solvent chemical operation around DC. Core of their family's money laundering and contraband production. Two years ago, I personally dismantled it piece by piece." I sipped the liquor on the table, eyes narrowing dangerously. "He's been trying every way to restart that pipeline. This concentration of smell only sticks to expensive suit fibers if you've been to the refinement site. Spent serious time there."
"Which means he not only restarted the underground operation, but showing up here tonight was definitely no damn 'chance encounter.'" Vivienne's mind spun fast, hitting the core.
"Exactly." I pulled out my phone, firing off an encrypted message to Sasha. "Find out who leaked tonight's location to Marchetti. Dig out the mole."
