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Just a dress … that makes me want to push her against the wall and fuck her with no mercy. I guarantee I won’t be the only one having this reaction to Kira tonight.
I force my face to remain neutral, but inside my blood is boiling. “You’ve met the mayor, Kira. You saw what kind of twisted fuck he is. So on top of the many business matters I have to deal with tonight, I also have to worry about him lusting after you?”
She shrugs. “So? Why did you marry me if not to have a hot young thing hanging off your arm? You’ve made it clear you have no interest in my business sense or intellectual contributions. Why not enjoy the view?”
I don’t miss the note of vulnerability in her voice. Maybe because she’s so young and way too fucking brash for her own good, but something inside my chests twists knowing that this ruthless world will eventually dim her light. Starting with me.
“We don’t have time for you to change,” I say, glancing at my watch. “Don’t go anywhere with the mayor alone. And for fuck’s sake, be on good behavior.”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll be the perfect society wife exchanging recipes for borscht and talking about the latest styles to hit the runways.” She blinks up at me, innocence personified.
Why do I have this nagging feeling that I've dug my own grave?
My young wifehas charmed the hell out of everyone here. The mayor and his wife, Zoya, are as intrigued by Kira as the other guests: Ludmila Vetrova, the famed ballet director from the Bolshoi Theatre; Grigor Grigoriev, a distinguished conductorfor the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra; and Tim Burke, an American tech mogul.
Any subject that comes up—from the latest production ofGiselleat the Bolshoi to the current world financial market trends—Kira holds her own. She is polite, witty, and charming, and so goddamn beautiful I can hardly look at her because it scrambles my brain.
That, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to be Pyotr’s problem. The mayor’s eyes have been glued to her all night—her legs, her tits, even watching her lips as she speaks. I’d shank him right here if we weren’t surrounded by his guards. Either Kira is oblivious or a great actor because she makes it seem like he’s the most charming man on the planet, and trust me, that couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s as charming as a sprouted old potato, which incidentally he resembles.
As soon as the last dinner plate is cleared, I turn to Pyotr, an insincere smile pulling my lips. “I think it’s time for a nightcap.” Code: we need to talk business. Alone.
But his eyes are still glued to my wife’s chest as she continues an animated conversation with Ludmila. “Maybe in a while. I want to show Kira my sword collection.”
Not fucking happening.
“I would think you want to hear about your cut in the Albanian deal.”
That sure gets his attention. He leans towards me, swirling the wine in his glass. “Is that already paying dividends?”
Kira’s gentle laughter floats across the table, and his eyes are drawn back to her. I’ve had enough. He may be the mayor, butIrun this fucking city.
I stand up, my chair scraping along the oak floor. “Excuse us,” I say to the table, buttoning up my suit jacket. “Pyotr and I have some business to discuss.”
Curious eyes land on me, but I don’t acknowledge anyone else at the table. Entering the mayor’s office, I fix myself a cognac and make myself at home, taking a seat in Pyotr’s office chair.
The mayor enters the room shortly after and freezes, watching me closely. I pick up the 1928 Babe Ruth signed baseball I gifted him last year after he granted my construction company exclusive rights to build a complex of skyscrapers downtown. His eyes ping pong, following the ball as I toss it from one hand to the other.
“You really need to put this behind some sort of glass," I suggest coolly. "You know, precious items can get damaged or lost so easily if not properly cared for.”
“Too true. Too true,” Pyotr agrees, taking the seat across from me. “I like to admire it sometimes without the layer of protection.”
“We all like pretty things, but we can't play with them if they're not ours.”
He misses the meaning of my words as he leans forward, rummaging in a teak box on his desk. If he wasn’t so stupid, I’d swear he’s purposefully baiting me.
Thwack.
The sudden noise reverberates through the room as the baseball smashes against the window. The impact is loud and startling, but the window, being bulletproof, doesn't even crack.
Pyotr's head snaps up, his gaze darting to the undamaged window and then to me, shock in his eyes. “Why would you do that?!”
“Because I require your attention and you’re too busy rummaging around for a fucking cigar.”
Pyotr's face tightens and he sits back down, clutching a cigar between his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he huffs. “I’m too drunk to talk business right now. How about we meet at Cabaret Le RougeMonday night? There are some new faces you don’t want to miss.” By “faces”, he means tits and ass because Cabaret Le Rouge is Moscow’s elite strip club.
“I don’t have time for that.”
He nods, taking a puff off his cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke that lazily drifts towards the ceiling. “Passing up an opportunity to get your dick sucked at Cabaret? Is this about your new wife? I didn’t think a man like you would ever get remarried, but she is a hot piece of ass.”
