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She’d worn the red dress he’d had delivered for their night in the Syndicate’s hotel, and he’d made a mental note to have more evening clothes delivered to the loft when they returned to New York. It was an unusually hopeful thought given the current situation, but he forgave himself the optimism.
It had been a perfect night so far, the reason for their trip to New Orleans receding to the back of his mind as they’d dined on crispy potato puffs with béarnaise sauce and shrimp remoulade, crab ravigote and shrimp étouffée, tender lamb chops and the rarest of filet mignon.
He’d tried to convince Max to join them, but his friend had insisted on keeping watch outside, and Roman and Ruby had polished off an entire bottle of wine while Roman told Ruby some of the history of the city — how it had been founded in the early 1700s and had originally been part of what had been known as French Louisiana, how it was named after a city in France, which had been named after the Roman emperor Aurelian, even though the land had belonged to the Chitimacha, a tribe of Native Americans who had inhabited the Mississippi River Delta for thousands of years.
Ruby had seemed both fascinated and horrified by the history as he told her about the battles between colonists and Native Americans and the arrival of slave ships from Africa. It had all resulted in the melting pot to end all melting pots, making New Orleans one of the most culturally significant places in the country.
He’d spun his tale in the dining room at Galatoire’s over the soundtrack of soft music and the murmuring of diners, the old chandeliers dripping crystal from the high ceilings, candlelight flickering on the linen-draped table between them.
It had seemed like they were in another world.
Now he had to force himself back to the real world, a necessity for his upcoming meeting with Baz Rykov. They were colleagues of a sort — both members of the bratva, albeit in different cities — but Roman’s situation was a precarious one. He wasn’t pakhan of New York. If anything, he was a traitor, and while Rykov had offered Roman the use of his house while in New Orleans, Roman knew better than to trust that Rykov was on his side in the conflict.
It could be a trap. Or maybe Rykov would want to trade for some future favor from Roman. Maybe the other man just wanted to watch Roman squirm.
Roman didn’t know, but Rykov had suggested they meet tonight at 11 p.m., and while Roman was in Rykov’s city, reliant on Rykov’s hospitality, he intended to make nice.
It was late on a weeknight but the city was in full swing, and Roman guided Ruby through the crowd until he spotted a narrow nondescript doorway nestled between a gift store and a cigar shop.
Roman pulled Ruby out of the flow of traffic and headed for the door.
She eyed it skeptically. “Is this the part where I disappear forever?”
“No, this is the part where you stick close to me unless I say otherwise.”
He opened the door and waited for her to step into the dark interior, then stepped in after her.
16
RUBY
For a few seconds, Ruby lost sight of him. It was so dark she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face.
Then her eyes began to adjust and she realized they were standing in a small vestibule, a steep staircase in front of them leading one way — down.
Sconces along the staircase emitted weak golden light, illuminating dark patterned wallpaper that looked like it had been there since the 1700s, when Roman told her the city had been founded.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?” She had no idea why she was whispering.
His chuckle in the dark was low and carnal. “Consider it an exercise in surrender.”
She had a flash of the playroom at the loft.
… some women find pleasure in being submissive. In giving up control.
She shivered. Her entire relationship with Roman had been about surrender. From the moment he’d stepped into the alley to pull Adam off her to this moment, thousands of miles from home, she’d been at the mercy of Roman Kalashnik.
It had cost her dearly, but she could no longer muster the rage she’d felt when he’d first rescued her from the grain terminal. To be angry at the effect he’d had on her life was to regret it, and more and more she found that she just couldn’t.
That she didn’t.
It didn’t make sense. She was here to find her daughter, who’d only gone missing because of the storm Roman had ushered onto the shores of her life.
And yet she was glad she was here with him.
She felt him move closer, felt the brush of his body against hers, the scent of his cologne mingled with his skin hitting her olfactory senses like a freight train.
His lips brushed her ear. “Think you can surrender, Ruby?”
