But I have a job, and I have to do it, so I'll take the easier of the two, which, after thinking it through, has become obvious.
I'll need to break into his room.
Because accessing the tablet while he's down here, distracted by champagne and flattery, will be the only chance I have.
I glance at the stairs leading up to the private suites. Security is tight, but I've already mapped out three potential entry points. A service hallway near the kitchen. A fire escape on the east side. And a maintenance access panel behind the coat check.
I can do this. I have to.
My gaze drifts back to Dimitri, who's now gesturing animatedly to a woman in a gold gown. She laughs, touching his arm, and he leans closer, saying something that makes her blush.
The dread that's been sitting in my chest since Prague returns, heavier this time.
I can't shake the feeling like I'm stepping on a landmine.
If Ivan's suspicions are wrong, if Dimitri isn't hiding anything, and I get caught, I'm dead for nothing. And not just dead. Executed and branded a traitor to the Bratva, and my name will mean nothing. All the work I've done, lost.
And Ivan won't be able to save me. He can't. Not without revealing that he ordered the hit, which would shatter the family's trust in him. Every job I take is under the guise that if I'm caught, he doesn't know me or the mission. This won't be any different.
I close my eyes for a moment, steadying my breathing.
Ivan saved my life. I owe him everything, I tell myself.
When my parents were killed, my father, Ivan's personal driver, shot in the street like he was nothing, my mother murdered hours later as collateral, he didn't turn away and let it stand. He could have. I was twelve years old, orphaned, with nowhere to go. The Ruskin family, the ones who ordered the hit, would have found me eventually and finished the job.
But Ivan retaliated hard. Wiped them out instead. Every single member of the Ruskin Bratva, erased from Russian history like they never existed.
And then he gave me a life.
Trained me. Fed me. Turned me into something more than an orphan with nothing but rage and grief. He didn't have to do any of that, but he did.
And for that, I owe him everything.
So, if Ivan feels like Dimitri is hiding something, then in my eyes, he is, and I will get the proof. My loyalty to Ivan is absolute, even worth my life.
I open my eyes and drain the rest of my sparkling water, setting the empty flute on a table next to the railing.
Time to move.
I can't just lurk on this balcony all night. Dimitri knows who I am. If he spots me hiding up here, watching him, he'll immediately suspect I'm monitoring him. And that's the last thing I need.
To maintain my cover, I have to hide in plain sight.
I take a breath, smoothing the red dress over my hips, and descend the staircase.
The dress does the work for me. Men's conversations pause as I pass. Eyes follow the slit, the exposed skin, before admiring my cleavage. I keep my expression bored, aloof, like I belong here and couldn't care less about the attention.
By the time I reach the main floor, I've already identified my path to Dimitri. He's still near the craps table, the Italian politician now replaced by a Russian in a white tuxedo. The guards notice me first, their postures shifting subtly as I approach. One of them steps forward, blocking my path.
"Danika." Dimitri's voice cuts through the tension before the guard can speak. He waves the man off, a wide smile spreading across his face. "What is Ivan's favorite weapon doing in Italy?"
I smile back, smooth and easy, letting the lie roll off my tongue like I've rehearsed it a hundred times.
"I just finished up Romania," I say, keeping my tone light, casual. "Thought I'd take a few days to enjoy the Mediterranean coast before heading back to Moscow. I heard about your event, so..." I smile and bite my lip. "I thought this would be the perfect place to unwind."
Dimitri laughs, and his eyes drop to the tops of my breasts. "Of course, of course! Even the best need a vacation,???"
"Exactly."
