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“Certainly,” Anatoly chortles. “Wouldn't want to keep the mighty Maxim Belov waiting, would we?”
Liza looks between Anatoly and me, her face a mix of confusion and concern.
I lean down, placing a soft kiss on Liza's cheek. “I'll call you later.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAXIM
I swirlthe whiskey in my glass and stare out my office window into the darkness beyond, my phone pressed against my ear.
“We have a lead on Chun Leung, the Black Company operative in Moscow,” Viktor tells me. He’s my head of security and intelligence. As a former special forces operative, his security and surveillance training is an invaluable asset to my operations. “Check your phone. I just sent a picture over.”
I put my phone on speaker and swipe until I’m looking at a grainy black and white image. It shows two men on the steps of a building. One is Henri Blanchet, and the other must be Leung.
“They were last seen together here, in front of the Tretyakov Gallery. The security cameras didn’t give us a super clean image of him, but it’s enough for our team to work with.”
I allow a rare smile. “Finally some fucking good news. Make finding Leung a priority.”
Things have been quiet with the Black Company, but it’s the calm before the storm. I’m planning on taking our first wineforgery to auction in New York soon, and that will surely light the fuse, setting off a war with them.
"We will," Viktor assures me. "Now that we know what Leung looks like, we'll use facial recognition software to sift through the city's CCTV footage and track him down."
“Keep me updated,” I say and hang up the phone.
I check my watch. Kira is keeping me waiting. Not that I'm in a rush to go to the mayor’s dinner tonight. Everything about that man sets my nerves on edge, but I do business with him, and I’ll have to introduce Kira to my world eventually.
The quiet is abruptly broken as the door flies open. I turn to see Nadya, her face flushed with agitation.
“Your new wife is impossible to deal with. I give up," she declares, her voice crackling with frustration.
I set my glass down, arching an eyebrow, as a pang of irritation moves through me. Nadya is not known for hysterics, but Kira seems to push all her buttons. “Are you trying to tell me she’s running late?”
Nadya bristles. “No. I’m here to tell you she’s dressed like a common whore, even though I specifically chose an outfit and left it out for her.”
I sigh. This shit again. Kira is a force of nature, strong-willed and independent, while Nadya thrives on control and tradition. The two were bound to clash. She wants Kira to heel to her dominance, but that’s never going to happen.
“You don’t have to deal with her,” I remind Nadya sharply. “She’s my issue, not yours.”
“But your problems are mine to bear.” Her voice is soft and pleading. She comes closer, laying a hand on my arm. “You know everything I do is for you. I want to make this arrangement more bearable.”
“If you want to make it more bearable, find a way to get along with Kira.”
Nadya was never going to be happy with any woman by my side. After Ilya's death sent my world into a tailspin, she quietly stepped up, taking on more responsibilities. With no lady of the house, she filled that void, which worked fine until now. But she’s acting like a rabid guard dog these days, and it’s wearing on my nerves.
Nadya sniffs disdainfully and folds her arms. "It's impossible to get along with a traitor like her.”
Traitor? A prickle rises on my neck. Something about that word doesn’t sit right.
Before I can respond, the door swings open and Kira enters, looking like sex on a stick. She’s wearing four-inch heels, delicate fishnet stockings, and a form-fitting dress that hugs her curves like it's been painted on. Like the vixen she is, she looks right at me, gauging my reaction as she slowly rests a hand on her hip.
When she sees Nadya sneering, she flashes her a shit-eating grin before addressing me. “Ready to go?”
White heat licks the lining of my stomach. I run my tongue over my teeth and try to hold back the impulse I have to throw her over my lap and show her exactly what I think of her outfit. And the smirk on her face. And the way her tits look like the perfect handful. I manage to hold back—barely.
“Leave us,” I say to Nadya, who obliges. "What kind of statement were you looking to make tonight?" I ask Kira as I lean against the wall, arms crossed in front of me. “We’re going to a dinner party at the mayor’s residence, for fuck’s sake, not a club in the Arbat district.”
Kira’s eyes, heavy under thick lashes, lock onto mine. She snares her plush bottom lip with her front teeth. “No statement. It’s just a dress, Maxim.”
