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“It’s time for an upgrade,” he says in a husky voice. “You’re ready for a bigger size.”
I don’t have to ask what he means.
“Silicone or glass?” he asks, sending goosebumps over my arm when he sucks on the sensitive spot behind my ear.
“Silicone sounds softer.” Just to tease him, I add, “I like red.”
He chuckles. “A ruby it will be.”
I pull away in surprise. “A ruby?”
He brushes the hair from my face. “What did you expect, my love?”
“Crystal?” I ask with a frown.
“Tsk.” He shakes his head.
My lips part in disbelief. “You mean…?”
“A diamond, yes,” he says. “You didn’t think I’d put a common crystal in your ass, did you?”
The crass words shouldn’t sound hot, but they heat my stomach.
“And just so we’re clear,” he says, gripping my hair in a tight fist. “I won’t be walking through that door any time soon, kiska.”
17
Alex
A week passes with no action on the security front. Stefanov got my message for sure, the one I sent via that dead ublyudok, Vadim, but he’s not making a move. He’s biding his time, maybe waiting for a weakness to exploit. We’re caught in a frustrating stand-off, each watching the other.
There’s no new information from Adrian either. He’s still trying to trace the hacker who calls himself Mukha. The guy—Mukha—is good. I have to give him that. Nelsky and my team are on his trail too, but they’ve come up with zilch. Adrian tripled my original offer to the hacker for the file he encrypted for Pavlov, and the pesky little fly said he’d have to think about it. He said if he were to hand the file over, he’d have to take on a new identity and disappear. He’d never be able to set foot in Russia again. Whatever is on that file is damn important, enough for the fly to be wary of selling it, even for three million euros, and enough for Stefanov to want to kill me.
What I still don’t know is how Pavlov is connected to any of this. Like Stefanov, he’s beefing up his army. You’d think they’re preparing for war. My informants told me they’ve both ordered more weapons on the black market and hired more men.
As far as Besov goes, I’m almost a hundred-percent certain he’s the fucker who took a shot at me, although I can’t prove he was in the States when the shooting happened. According to the flight records I got from my contacts, Besov has been safely and soundly on Russian soil for years. That doesn’t mean he didn’t travel with a false passport. The man I ordered to watch Besov’s apartment informed me that Besov isn’t home. The neighbors said he keeps to himself and never speaks to anyone, but they haven’t seen him in a good two months.
While I’m waiting, I use my restless energy to ensure that the upcoming event will be secure. The gala dinner will be held downtown in the Lion Palace Hotel ballroom. The event coordinator has provided me with the guest list. Stefanov and Pavlov aren’t invited. The bratva bosses aren’t the kind of influencers the government wants to associate with when it comes to nuclear power.
Since many government officials and leading businessmen will be attending, the security is already top notch, but I insist on putting extra measures in place. For one, I want every person searched before they’re allowed to enter the gala venue. The hall has a separate entrance from the hotel, which plays in my favor. It makes controlling who enters and exits considerably easier. I’m an important enough guest to get my specifications met to the last T. My money lines the pockets of many of the attendees, after all. The fact that Mikhail Turgenev and his family will be present further aids my efforts. Turgenev, who’s a stickler for security, seconded my suggestions. He even asked to have walk-through metal detectors installed at the entrance.
We’ll also have checkpoints set up and all vehicles searched for explosives before they’ll be allowed to approach the hall through a cordoned-off one-lane street. Our carefully screened valets will park the vehicles in the underground parking lot that will be watched by a team of guards before, during, and after the event.
In addition, Mikhail and I will have the building surrounded. Our men will be stationed around the whole block, armed with automatic rifles, smoke bombs, and grenades. Of course, they’ll be discreet. The general public won’t even know they’re there. My security chief, Nelsky, will monitor the movements around the hotel via satellite. We’ll also have drones positioned at strategic coordinates, both to have extra eyes on the venue and for additional firepower if needed. Those drones are loaded with missiles that can flatten a ten-story building. Lastly, I’ll have men on the floor who’ll be connected to Nelsky and me via a central communication system. Any enemies stupid enough to target anyone at the gala will be squashed like insects before they come within a five-kilometer radius of the building.
