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I’m already dressed. I’ve got a tuxedo on standby. The Burcheist Gala is a who’s who of the New York elite. Socialites, businessmen, celebrities… They’re all going to be there tonight, so dressing for the occasion is a must.
I adjust my cufflinks as I descend the stairs. Luka happens to be lounging on the second floor’s living room, a Red Bull in one hand and his laptop on the coffee table. He whistles at me.
“Where are you going, fancy pants?” he teases.
“Out.”
“Oh, good. And here I thought you were in your casual attire.”
“You haven’t been stopping by the office,” I tell him, ignoring the jab.
Luka shrugs. “I can get all of my work done here. There’s no need for me to go in. Too many distractions.”
“I’m starting to worry that you’re becoming a shut-in.”
“I’m not. I work more effectively at home, you know that. Given all the, uh…stuffMikhail and Dimitri have me do, it’s better to have a private space to work.”
“Fair point. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”
“No promises.”
I roll my eyes and continue descending the steps to the first floor of the penthouse. Alina is nowhere in sight, though I can just barely hear music playing in her room. As I approach her door, the music gets louder. Whoever’s singing has a beautiful voice. It isn’t until I’m at her doorway that I realize—
It’sAlina.
I can’t make out her words, but that’s not what captures my attention. Her notes are crystal clear, so sweet and angelic she has me almost hypnotized. I don’t even realize I’ve taken a step into her room until she sees me in the reflection of her floor mirror and whips around with a gasp.
“Oh! H-how long were you standing there?”
“Not long.”
“Actually, excellent timing,” she says, turning away to expose the back of her open dress. Her cheeks are pink, her nervous eyes cast down to the carpeted floor. “My zipper got caught. Do you think you can help me?”
My feet carry me forward before my brain ever gets the chance to think about it. I approach her slowly, my hands moving all on their own.
Alina’s in a gorgeous red dress like liquid fire, the fabric shimmering, intricate beadwork catching the room’s soft light. The dress hugs her hips and dips at her delicate waste, draping over her shoulders like red rivulets. The zipper is indeed stuck, caught in its own teeth, but it gives me plenty of opportunity to gaze upon her back.
She’s covered in scars.
My mouth goes dry. Something dark and angry boils in the pit of my stomach. I reach out, gingerly tracing fingers over the dull red welts upon her skin. My lips curl up into a sneer, my rage barely kept in check.
“Who did this to you?” I growl.
Alina squirms a little. “It’s nothing.”
“Answer me.”
She looks at me using the reflection of the mirror, her eyes wide and full of bitter acceptance. “Who do you think?”
A protective instinct flares within me. There’s no love lost between Violetta and me. The moment she threatened my family was the moment I wrote her off. I tolerate her at best for the sake of this peace treaty but knowing she has harmed Alina—and clearly not just once—has me seething. The rational part of my brain flies straight out the window. I have half a mind to fly back to Russia and teach her mother a lesson. Everything I learn about Violetta only solidifies my hatred for her.
“Do they still hurt?” I ask Alina through gritted teeth, tracing over the next welt I find.
She shakes her head. “Not anymore.”
“How?”
Alina looks down as if ashamed. “Riding crop.”
