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Who exactly is Nikolai Molotov, and what did Alina mean by her strange warning?
I look at the pillow, then at the computer. It’s late, and I should really go to sleep. But the odds of being able to drift off while I’m this wired are low, almost nonexistent.
Screw it. Who needs sleep?
Opening the laptop, I type “Nikolai Molotov” into the browser and dive in.
31
Nikolai
The first thing I do upon arrival at my hotel is power up my laptop, open the video feed from Slava’s room, and check that my son is peacefully asleep.
He is. The car-shaped nightlight he likes us to leave on illuminates his sleeping features, revealing a tiny fist tucked underneath his sweetly rounded cheek. My heart thumps harder at the sight, a now-familiar ache spreading through my chest. I don’t understand it any more than I understand my growing obsession with his tutor, but I can’t deny it’s there, as real and concrete as my hatred for the woman who gave birth to him.
For Ksenia, and the entire Leonov viper clan.
Rage kindles in my stomach, and I wrench my thoughts away from them. Tomorrow will be soon enough to deal with their latest sabotage; tonight, I have more pleasant things to think about.
Opening a new window, I bring up the feed from the webcam on Chloe’s laptop, and a warm glow spreads through me as her pretty face fills the screen. Despite the late hour, she’s awake, her smooth forehead creased in a frown as she peers intently at her computer. She must be doing something online because I can see her browser being active, and when I go into her search history, I’m pleased to find her researching me.
I was hoping she’d be thinking about me, just as I’m thinking about her.
She has no idea I can see this, of course. The laptop I gave her is from a special batch altered by one of Konstantin’s shadier ventures. It looks like a regular brand-new Mac but comes pre-installed with undetectable spyware that allows us to keep an eye on all sorts of influential businesspeople and politicians.
Many a business deal was pushed through thanks to this handy software and the secrets it has revealed.
I watch her for a few minutes, amused by her attempts to read an article from a Russian newspaper using free web translation tools. She wrinkles her nose in the most adorable way when puzzled, and her eyes go from wide to narrow and back, her teeth frequently tugging at her lower lip. I want to bite that plump lip and soothe it with a kiss, then do the same all over her delicious little body.
My cock stirs at the thought, and I take a breath to distract myself from the heat building inside me. As enjoyable as it is to observe her, what I want even more is to talk to her, to hear her soft, husky voice and see her sunny smile. I miss that smile.
Fuck, I miss her.
It’s ridiculous, I know—I just met her this week, and we’ve been apart less than a day—but that’s the way it is, that’s the inevitability of it all. Fate brought her to me, and now she’s mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet. If not for this trip, she’d already be in my arms, but the Leonovs stuck their dirty paws into our business and here we are.
Drawing in another settling breath, I open Konstantin’s video software and place the call.
32
Chloe
I’m in the middle of painstakingly comparing the Bing translation of the Russian article to the Google version in the hopes of making sense of three particularly confusing sentences when a soft chime sounds and a videocall request pops up, with Nikolai’s picture in it.
My heart rate shoots up, my breathing quickening uncontrollably. It’s like he’s the proverbial devil, summoned by my thoughts—or my research. Is that possible? Does he somehow know I’m reading about him at this very moment?
Is that why he’s calling so late? To fire me for snooping?
No, that’s crazy. He probably just landed, saw on the videoconference app that I’m online, and decided to check in.
Pulling in a shaky breath, I smooth my hair with my palms and click “Accept.”
His gorgeous face fills the screen, making my heart pound harder. “Hi, zaychik.” His voice is soft and deep, his gaze mesmerizing even through the camera. In general, the quality of the video is insane; it’s like a movie in HD. I can see everything, from the artful swoops in the abstract painting hanging on the wall a few feet behind his chair to the forest-green flecks in his amber eyes. He must’ve just arrived because he’s still wearing the shirt and tie I saw him leave in, but instead of looking tired and rumpled, as a normal person would after a transatlantic flight, he’s the very picture of effortless elegance, every glossy black hair in place.
