Page 71 of Lord of the Underworld

"Not to worry, I have Lavr and Marlen with me," I say, and he nods, not entirely happy about it. All the girls seem to have dispersed to the far corners of the ballroom, so I'm on my own. When I emerge from the ladies' room, the bodyguards lead me on a circuitous route to get back to Vadim. It's slow going, and I sip my champagne, looking around. The press of so many bodies is beginning to feel claustrophobic.

"A bit stifling, isn't it?" The man to my left seems to be attempting to make his way in the opposite direction.

"Extremely," I nod.

"This is the New Year's Eve party for our circle, and everyone got an invitation tonight, apparently," he says. He has a faint accent; I can't place it. He's handsome enough, dark eyes and olive skin, his brown hair is swept back. Marlen hovers next to me, staring at the man, who has been nothing but polite. But he's got the shrewd gaze of someone who's inflicted an excessive amount of violence, just like everyone else here.

"John Stevens," he says, introducing himself with a courteous incline of his head, and I nod back politely.

"Oksana Turgeneva," I reply, expecting that my last name will make him disappear.

"Oh, I know." He takes a drink as his eyes scan the crowd.

"I see," I say shortly. My champagne has a sour taste, like all the fizziness evaporated.

"You've been the subject of many conversations, once you married the Angel of Death," he muses. "You're almost notorious."

I watch him closely. His gaze is blank. "That is hardly flattering, and I suspect that's exactly how you meant it, Mr. Stevens. Is there something you're trying to tell me?"

Marlen and Lavr step closer, bookending me between their tall, bulky frames, but the man doesn't seem particularly intimidated.

"Not at all, Mrs. Turgeneva," he says, and something that stirs a memory in the back of my mind, something about the way he speaks, a cyclical speech pattern that rises and falls in an almost musical loop. Like Italian, but heavier. The room is noisy, if I could hear him more clearly, something would make sense to me, I know it.

His head tilts oddly, like a bird, spotting a tasty bug. "I just wanted to get a look at you," he says. "Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Turgeneva."

"Enjoy yours," I reply in a tone that clearly indicates that I hope he'll be disemboweled by the end of it.

"Have we found Vadim yet?" I ask Lavr.

"Yes ma'am," he says, clearly relieved to bring me back. "Over there by the east window, he's looking at you."

I turn back for a moment to look at the odd John Stevens, but he's gone, plunged back in the ocean of guests.

Vadim is suddenly next to me, and his finger gently lifts my chin as his brows draw together. "You look pale. Are you all right?"

What am I going to say? That a random stranger wanted to get a look at me because I was notorious? Not exactly a reason to stab someone, though it's entirely possible the Vadim would still take it as one.

"I think I'm just a little claustrophobic," I say, which is true. "It would be nice to have some breathing room."

He's still searching my face with that frown. "Let's go, we've done our duty."

"So much better," Iris moans happily, twirling in circles, her arms spread wide, as if to prove that she's not going to bump into another guest.

Uncle Maksim and Aunt Ella are hosting the family party at their four-story brownstone, along with Uncle Yuri and Aunt Tania. The two couples produced these gigantic, brutal, and exceptionally intelligent children… who then married exceptionally intelligent and beautiful spouses.

The sense of warmth and security here instantly makes me feel better. Instead of breaking off into little groups, everyone stays together in the enormous great room, couches and chairs pulled together by the fire, sharing stories.

"I have noticed that nearly all these tales seem to start with a distinct act of violence that then multiplies into some cataclysmic finish where the Morozovs come out unscathed," I murmur to Ava.

She toasts me. "You have described this family in a single sentence."

I lean my head against Vadim's shoulder, enjoying the flow of conversation swirling around me. At one minute to midnight, he kisses my hand, "This is the first time I have ever wanted to welcome the New Year." His tone is almost achingly gentle. "The beginning of a full year with you."

Oh, my heart.

Glasses are filled and everyone starts counting down.

"Ten, nine, eight…"