Page 8 of Exacting Vengeance

“Then together, we’ll have four left feet. Olga, please excuse us.” He whisked Viktoria onto the crowded dance floor but not before noting Olga’s deepening scowl.

After the third song, he could feel the tension in Viktoria’s body dissipate, although the tension in his own was heightening by degrees. Her subtle, feminine fragrance was driving him crazy, and when her breasts or legs brushed against him, he wanted to pull her to his chest and cover her mouth with his. He ground his jaw and concentrated on minimizing contact.

She actually did seem to be enjoying herself, and he wanted her to remember this night. A night without Yuri.

“You know,” she said, grinning up at him, “I highly doubt Yuri told you I love to dance.”

“He didn’t,” Alex admitted. “But I couldn’t take another minute of Olga giving me that I-want-to-grab-your-ass look.”

She rolled her lips inward but not enough to hide the smile. “Do you really think Olga is beautiful?”

“No.” Not on this planet. Or any other planet in the solar system.

“Then why did you say that to her?”

“Some people need to hear that kind of compliment.”

“So, you told her what you thought she needed to hear?”

“I suppose.” He nodded. The best undercovers had the ability to read people accurately, so they could get what they needed out of them.

She tilted her head, narrowing beautiful blue eyes on him. “Some would say that’s manipulative.”

“Perhaps.” Giant red warning flags whipped back and forth in his head. Viktoria was insightful enough to see right through the psychology of what he was doing—an undercover agent’s mission. “Then again, to some people, I suppose she would be considered beautiful.”

“But not to you?” The hint of a smile graced her lips, along with a smidge of suspicion.

“No. I prefer the subtle kind of beauty.” Like yours. “Olga’s beauty is the kind that runs you over and leaves you smashed into the ground, bloody and with your guts leaking out of your body. Like⁠—”

She smacked his shoulder. “I get it, I get it!”

There it was again––that entrancing merriment in her eyes that metamorphosed her entire personality. Viktoria Petrova was an achingly beautiful woman, outside and in. Yuri was not only a criminal, but a fool for having the greatest gift of all right under his nose and not appreciating it.

Hell. He clenched his jaw. Somehow, he had to stop his thoughts from careening right into a deadly ditch.

Distance was key. That, and a cold shower.

A thoughtful expression overtook her face, making those warning flags ripple harder. “You’re not like Yuri. He seems to trust you, respect you, yet you’re total opposites.”

“That’s what makes us a good team. I’m the yin to his yang.” For his reference to Chinese philosophy, he was rewarded with a smile, revealing perfectly even white teeth surrounded by lips he couldn’t stop staring at.

“I know what that means, but why exactly do you and Yuri make a good team? Again, you’re so different.”

That we are.

He chose his next words carefully. “In certain elite circles, like the global market and high-end real estate, Semyon Novikov needs people who can blend in.” Which Yuri, a traditional gangster thug, could never do. “Don’t get me wrong, Novikov appreciates Yuri’s talents.” Because every criminal organization needs people to do their “wet work,” the most bloody and savage form of enforcement and protection.

What he couldn’t tell her was that, like most crime organizations, the Bratva was having to reinvent themselves to stay in the game. The big money was in the global market, high-end real estate, banking and investing. Traditional tattooed thugs pounding peoples’ faces into the pavement were, to some extent, a thing of the past, and Novikov knew it. Yuri no longer fit in with the modern Bratva’s new breed. That’s where Alex came in. He reported to Yuri but filled a completely different role in Novikov’s operation.

The song had led them to the edge of the dance floor closest to the bar where Olga glared at them, tapping a long, pink-tipped finger nail against her glass. Alex deftly danced them back into the crowd, away from her prying eyes and ears.

The music changed to a louder, livelier ballad. Viktoria leaned in, giving him a noseful of her pretty, flowery scent. “You don’t talk with an accent. In fact, I’ve never heard you say a single word in Russian. Are you really Russian?”

“My heritage is,” he lied. “I was born and raised here, but my parents were Russian. They brought me up with a good sense of the Russian culture and language.” More lies.

Everything he’d learned about Russian language and culture had been during a lengthy stint at the Department of Defense Language Institute and from living with a Russian family for ten months on the Ukraine border, totally immersing himself in their way of life. “Vashi glaza tzveta siniye vasil’kov.” Your eyes are the color of blue cornflowers.

“You really are the yin to Yuri’s yang.” She smiled, but it was a sad one, confirming what he suspected. Yuri never said anything nice to her. She swayed to the slow Russian ballad, her thighs and hips brushing against him in a sensual slide that made his slacks below his belt buckle fit a bit tighter. “You don’t even have a single tattoo, at least not that I saw.”