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He chuckles lightly, "Indeed, he does. A true politician."
Mayor Yeltsin continues, his voice ringing with conviction. "We are on the precipice of a new era where crime and corruption have no place. An era where our city's children can walk the streets safely, where our businesses can thrive without fear. We are on the verge of passing a policy that will tighten our grip on the illicit activities plaguing our city."
There's a round of applause, but I notice Roman's lips twist into a half-smirk. "Sounds like he's planning to make the lives of the criminal element rather difficult," he quips, his gaze still on the mayor. His tone, while light, betrays a hint of seriousness.
I have to admire the ease with which the lie flows from his lips. Roman speaks about criminals as if he knows nothing of that world.
I watch the mayor as he coughs, his face gradually turning a concerning shade of red. An aide begins to move in, but the mayor waves her off. The cough passes, the mayor tapping his chest with his fist, the redness fading. It's a subtle sign that my poison is working, and a wave of satisfaction washes over me. But my satisfaction is soon replaced with irritation when I realize Roman is hindering my exit plan.
I agreed to the dance with him to maintain my cover, not anticipating his tenacious charm would prove so inconvenient. The devilish twinkle in his green eyes and his disarming smile make him dangerously attractive. A part of me can't help but respond to his charisma, despite my loathing.
Every word he speaks, every flirtatious glance he throws my way, only stokes my anger. His family is responsible for tearing my world apart, for the empty void where Iosef once stood. A flame of vengeance burns in my heart, not just for me, but for Iosef.
The mayor's speech ends on an optimistic note, but the applause is drowned by his persistent coughing, which has returned with a vengeance. Roman’s hand slips from my waist, and I take this as my cue to make a clean exit.
I turn to him, forcing a smile. "I should really be going, Roman. It's been a pleasure."
His gaze turns to me, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "It's early yet, Galina," he says, his voice smooth as honey. "Allow me to accompany you to dinner."
My heart pounds against my ribs, and not in the way one might expect when asked out by a charming man. I need to leave now, but I can't risk raising suspicion.
"Roman, I—" I begin, trying to formulate an excuse, but he cuts me off.
"Please, Galina," he insists, a hint of sincerity in his tone. "Let me make your evening a bit more memorable."
I suppress a bitter laugh. If only he knew how memorable this night already is. I glance back at the podium where the mayor struggles to maintain his composure. The clock is ticking, and Roman Nicolaevich is an obstacle I hadn't accounted for.
“Is he alright?” a man near us asks, a tinge of concern in his voice.
Panic erupts in the grand hall as Mayor Yeltsin suddenly clutches his throat, gasping for air, his face as red as blood. His body convulses, his eyes wide with terror. A circle of horrified onlookers forms around him as he crumples to the floor. Screams echo off the museum walls, but above the chaos, I can hear the silent whisper of death.
I step back, using the crowd's distraction as my opportunity to slip away. I offer Roman one last fleeting glance over my shoulder before disappearing into the sea of panicked guests. As I leave the grand hall, my heart races, not from fear, but satisfaction. I've successfully orchestrated the mayor's last gala.
I reach my car and drive home, my mind replaying the evening's events. A part of me is relieved; the mayor was an obstacle to our operation, and he's no longer a threat. Another part of me knows this is only the beginning of a much larger, more personal battle.
Arriving home, I'm greeted by Lena, my four-year-old son Ilya's babysitter. She's been with us since Ilya was born, a constant pillar of support during my tumultuous journey of single motherhood.
"Ilya missed you, of course" Lena says, handing over my son. Ilya, with his wild, curly hair and the innocent gaze of his father, throws his arms around my neck, his warm hug soothing my frayed nerves. He was the result of a love story cut tragically short, the only part of Iosef I still have.
“I missed you, Mama,” he says, confirming Lena’s words. His voice is impossibly sweet as always, the most wonderful music to my ears.
I plant a kiss on Ilya's forehead, my heart aching at the sight of his father's eyes staring back at me. "I missed you too, my little bear," I say, cuddling him close.
Roman Nicolaevich might be unaware of it, but he's in my crosshairs. I won't rest until I avenge Iosef, until Ilya gets justice for his father. This isn't just about business anymore; it's about retribution.
Once Ilya is asleep, I step into my office, dialing Vladimir's number. The dimly lit room feels heavy with the weight of the conversation about to take place. The line rings once, twice, then Vladimir's gruff voice fills the room.
"Val," he answers, an unspoken question hanging between us.
"The mayor won't be a problem anymore," I say, my voice steady. I pause, then add, "And there's something else. Roman Nicolaevich was there tonight."
There's a heavy silence on the other end of the line, then a low sigh. "Valentina, what are you planning?"
I clench my jaw, my resolve hardening. "Justice," I reply, the word echoing in the silent room. "For Iosef."
Vladimir remains silent for a moment, then finally, he says, "Alright, Val. We'll talk."
As I end the call, the weight of the night's events hits me. A dance has ended, but a war is only just beginning.
