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NICK
Ican’t look away from her.
This was supposed to fade.
I’m not sure when, but it was definitely supposed to. No women besides her has ever held my attention. And the last time she did was under very different circumstances.
I gave the circumstances more credit than they were owed. The only overlap between my time with Lyla in college and now is her, and it feels the same. I can barely focus on the conversations I’m supposed to be carrying.
Everyone here is hoping to curry favor. These are valuable people to talk to, and I honestly couldn’t care less what a single one of them has to say. I’m focused entirely on Lyla, who has thankfully shifted from champagne to water.
There isn’t a drop of alcohol in my blood, and it pisses me off. I opted for no driver so I would be alone with Lyla in the car. And I’m realizing now I won’t drink and drive with her. So, I’m stuck staying sober and battling an erection every time I catch a glimpse of her cleavage in the low-cut dress she’s wearing.
People are talking. About the fact that I’m here when I never show up to meaningless social events. About the American I came here with when I never show up with a date. About the scowl on my face when I’m usually somewhat pleasant.
Pavel Popov sidling up to me does little to improve my dark mood. He’s been trying to get ahold of me for weeks—ever since rumors about my son started to spread.
“Nikolaj.”
“Pavel.”
“Lovely party, isn’t it?”
“Delightful,” I drone.
Popov is smart enough not to make enemies out of powerful friends. Even if he didn’t want to marry his daughter off to me, he wouldn’t chide me for poor manners.
“I hoped we’d be celebrating a different couple’s engagement by now.”
“I’ve been busy, Pavel.”
“So I’ve heard. You must have taken quite a hit in that warehouse explosion.” Pavel leans closer, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Sign the agreement, and I can help.”
My phone rings in my pocket.
“Excuse me,” I say, then step away.
“We caught Maxim Golubev,” Roman tells me as soon as I answer the phone out on the freezing terrace.
“Where?”
Of the eight men who left with Dmitriy, Maxim is the one I expected. He and Dmitriy are close. Dmitriy relies upon and trusts him, and Maxim is quite possibly the only person that applies to.
“At the Troitsk warehouse. You were right about them hitting it next.”
Pride is unmistakable in Roman’s voice, and some of it hits me as well. This is a victory, the closest thing to capturing Dmitriy himself. Not only is it a moral blow, but Maxim will know his plans. His hideouts. His weak points.
“Should I get him strung?”
“No,” I answer. “Put him in one of the cells. With food and water. He’ll be expecting us to torture him right away. Let him imagine it for a few days. Let Dmitriy wonder about what he’s telling us.”
“You got it, boss.”
When I walk back into the room, I spot Lyla by the bar. I watch the bartender ogle her cleavage, then knock a bottle over. She laughs, and that’s when I lose it. I stalk over, wrap a possessive hand around Lyla’s waist, and pull her out of the room. From past events that were hosted here, I know there’s a private bathroom down the hall by the kitchens.
I guide her inside and lock the door.
“What are you doing?”
