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“Ivan,” she whispers again, “what’s going on?”
I fucked up, that’s what. I got sucked into a ruse of my own making. I forgot what we’re doing here in the first place.
I plunge the bottle back into the ice bucket and press my hand to her leg. “You’re okay.”
She’s shaking under my touch. “Who sent us that bottle?”
“I don’t know.” I look around, but the other tables on the patio are empty. There are no direct windows into the dining room downstairs. If anyone knows we are here, they must have seen us come inside or been following us since we left the house.
And I didn’t even fucking notice.
Stupid. So, so stupid.
“Could it be a coincidence?” Her hand wraps around my wrist the same way it did yesterday in the sex shop. Except this time, she’s not clinging to me in ecstasy. She’s clinging to me in utter fear.
“No.”
I pull out the phone I all but forgot about for the last two hours and text Yasha.Send a driver to pick up Cora. Someone knows we’re here. Alert all security and bring in reinforcements.
“Who are you texting?”
I pocket my phone and wave down the waitress from where she has been watching in the stairwell.
“Is everything to your liking?” she asks, a cheery smile on her face.
“Where did you say this bottle came from?”
“It came from the Champagne region in France. We work with a local—”
“I know where fucking champagne comes from. I mean this specific bottle,” I growl. “Tonight. You said you don’t usually serve it, so who brought it in?”
She swallows nervously. “I’m afraid I don’t know. It was in the kitchen. They told me to bring it to you.”
“Who?”
“The kitchen staff. No one told me who delivered it. I might be able to ask the chef, but these kinds of things aren’t usually written down anywhere. We only know what is written on the cards, and this bottle didn’t come with a card.”
Because it didn’t need to. The sender made their message crystal clear with one stroke of their red pen.
“I’m sorry,” she adds. “If you don’t like the champagne, I can take it away and replace it with something else. I can—”
I wave her away. “Give yourself a fifty percent tip and close my tab. We’re leaving.”
My hot-and-cold act is doing a number on our waitress, but she stands a bit straighter. She scans the table as if to remind herself exactly how much money we spent here tonight. “Thank you, Mr. Pushkin. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope you two have a good rest of your night.”
The woman finally leaves. I grab Cora’s hand. “We’re leaving.”
“Do you think we’re in danger?” Cora stands, my jacket slipping from her shoulder. “Is it safe to leave?”
This threat is a bit more subtle than the red laser point of a sniper in the center of her chest, but I can’t take it any less seriously.
I pull her close and slide my jacket back into place, covering her shoulders. “I told you I’d take care of you. So do as I say and let me.”
I can tell there is so much more she wants to say, but she presses her mouth into a tight line and nods. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I trust you.”
I keep hold of Cora’s hand as we take the stairs back down to the narrow hallway. This time, however, instead of cutting across the dining room, I sneak through the camouflaged door beneath the staircase. It’s painted black to blend in with the shadows.
The hallway is dim, weaving through the narrow space between the public dining room to the left and the private dining spaces to the right. Doorways open into quiet chatter and candlelit dinners, people completely oblivious to the threat we’re under.
