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“Nothing would please me more,” he says. “But… duty calls.” He gestures to the platform at the top of the room’s stairs, a perfect place to give a speech. “I have a few important matters to share with the attendees – mayor matters, you see.”
I smile. “Naturally. In that case, the four of us ought to reconvene later in the evening, maybe even discuss the Vasileostrovsky matter in greater detail.”
“Nothing would please me more,” Svetlana affirms.
The mayor’s eyes flick to the women, a barely restrained giddiness forming on his face, as if running a city were nothing compared to the chance to get to know my dates a bit better.
“That could be done, Roman. I will see you later, yes?”
“Most certainly.”
I leave my companions and make my way toward the woman. The sound of the soft violin swells, a perfect symphony for the approaching dance. I draw closer to her, the fascinating creature who has bewitched my senses. Her gaze is focused on the grand window, her silhouette framed against the brilliant city lights outside.
“St. Petersburg is quite beautiful, is it not?”
She turns her gaze to me, those dark, intoxicating eyes lingering on me for another moment before going back to the window. “Yes. I suppose.”
Alright. Not much of a conversationalist. That’s never deterred me before. Some women have thicker walls than others. All the same, it’s just a matter of chipping through. As I prepare to speak, the opening strains of Tchaikovsky flow from the band. I smile, recognizing the piece.
I clear my throat. “I can’t think of a greater tragedy than for a beautiful woman such as yourself to miss a dance toWaltz of the Flowers.”
“It’s a lovely song, yes.” There – that was something.
"May I have the pleasure of this dance?" I extend my hand, my voice as smooth as the aged whiskey I've been sipping.
Her eyes meet mine, a moment of hesitation flickering. It almost seems as if the gears in her head are turning, as if she’s weighing the pros and cons of taking me up on my offer.
“Yes. Fine.”
She takes my hand and the effect is beyond intoxicating. It’s taking much, much more effort than usual to keep my cool and maintain my unbothered facade. This woman… who is she?
As we walk to the dance floor, her fingers slightly trembling, I introduce myself. "Roman Nicolaevich."
The color drains from her face at the mention of my name, her wide eyes reflecting a blend of surprise and... fear? Perhaps it's the light, or perhaps it's the reputation that accompanies my family name – though that would be unlikely in St. Petersburg.
"Something wrong?" I ask, unable to mask my concern completely.
"No... Nothing," she stammers, regaining her composure, "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Nicolaevich."
"Only the good parts, I hope," I chuckle, leading her into a gentle waltz, our bodies in sync, moving to the rhythm of the music.
Let the dance begin.
Chapter 2
Valentina
He places his hand on the curve of my hip. It takes all the restraint I have not to break it.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’d done such a thing to a man.
“And you?” He’s all confidence, smiles, and charm.
“Galina Ivanova.” I give him a fake name, one common enough I hope it slips his memory.
My real name, however, echoes in my mind. Valentina Korochova, sister to the leader of a Chechen gang, and the Ghost of St. Petersburg's underground. Tonight, however, I'm simply a woman in a dress that costs more than most people's monthly salary, standing too close to a man I'd rather have at the other end of a silenced pistol.
"Roman Nicolaevich." His voice is like honey laced with shards of glass. His name, infamous amongst the murky world I inhabit, ignites a fire in my gut. Nicolaevich. The name has haunted my dreams and fueled my nightmares. The name of the man responsible for my fiance's disappearance. The name of the enemy.
