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Kolya continues. “No one in our circles will agree to another arrangement, Mikhail. We’ll have to find someone else.”
I nod, stroking my chin as I think. The waiter brings our food and pours vodka into shot glasses.
“You have our support and protection, brother,” Nikko says, his sober, earnest eyes meeting mine on screen.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“We’ll find you a wife,” Aleks says. “Secretly, of course. We have a network of contacts and resources that can help.”
The rest agree.
My phone buzzes with a text. I feel my eyebrows rise with surprise.
The timing couldn’t be better.
CHAPTER FOUR
Aria
It's laughablyeasy to find the online scheduling software the Romanov assistant uses.
So maybe I planted a little bug. Practically child’s play. And when she opens up her computer to the calendar for the day, previously color coded and organized perfectly, she’ll see a blank slate.
I feel a little guilty causing someone else anxiety, but I’m desperate. And she must know who she works for.
I can’t spend another second wondering when they’ll find me. At this point, I’m not even sure who “they” are because the system of corruption runs so deep and wide. I imagine everywhere I turn, everywhere I look, masked or hooded men and women are ready to take me. After the newspaper article…I’m confident it’s not just my imagination.
I walk into the lobby of the Romanov business center like I own the place. Like I belong. Anyone can pretend for a little while, right?
When I reach for the door, it whispers open of its own accord. The entrance exudes opulence and sophistication, topped off with a very clear theme of exclusivity. The spacious, welcoming area boasts sleek leather chairs and minimalist decor, speckled marble floors of black and gray, adorned with a splash of contemporary artwork in bold red and black. It’s compelling but a bit unnerving.
A brushed metal desk stands in front of me, featuring an arrangement of fresh flowers. It’s so cold in here, the flowers are a nice touch.
I walk forward with my head held high, my gaze taking everything in and cataloging it. The chic seating area to the left, the plush armchairs and sofa to the right. High ceilings with recessed lighting, and discreetly hidden in a darkened alcove is a state-of-the-art security panel that looks complicated enough to launch a spaceship.
I borrowed one of Tatiana's dresses for today. She's thinner than I am, so it's a little risqué, clinging to my curvier body. I declined the heels because I know myself well enough to know that I would keel over and mortify myself if I tried to walk in them. So instead I opted for a pair of sensible but elegant flats.
“May I help you?”
The receptionist is a young, gorgeous woman,of course, with porcelain skin and delicate features, luscious blonde waves cascading down her back.
I mentally grimace.Sorry I fucked up your computer.
I don't miss the fact that there are six armed guards nearby.
"Yes," I say, keeping my tone even, almost bored. "I’m here for my eleven o’clock meeting with Mr. Romanov.”
She eyes me curiously, her head tipped to the side. “Are you sure about that?” I wonder idly if those lashes are falsies, they’re so pretty.
“Of course,” I insist, my tone hardening. “Is there a problem?”
I’ll make it up to you, I promise.A few keystrokes and her bank account will be mysteriously fatter.
Doing what I do means I blur the lines of morality sometimes. Other times, I have to erase them completely. Still, I’m shaking and want to run. I breathe deeply and will my nerves to remain calm.
“Let me see,” she murmurs to herself. When she stares at the screen, unblinking, I know exactly what she’s seeing — nothing. Her calendar wiped clean and an obnoxious error code.
Pink splotches of color stain her cheeks. My belly dips with guilt. “Just a minute, please.”
