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My hands ball into fists. “What did he say to her?”
“He’s suspicious,” she admits. “Wren basically told him she was a surrogate to try to throw him off the scent. I just… I don’t know if it worked.”
“Blyat’.”
I leave my spot behind the desk and start pacing furiously, cursing in Russian under my breath. Bee stands stock-still, her face pale and her shoulders hunched. She looks like a lamb trapped in a cage with a predator.
“Don’t bite my head off, okay?” she pleads tremulously. “But this is why I suggested we tell her the truth. The whole truth.”
My blood is boiling. Bee looks like the lamb now, but Wren must’ve been fucking terrified…
And I wasn’t there to stop it.
I’ve always been careful with Vittorio, no matter how much personal distaste I may have for the man. My grace, my formality—it was a necessary compromise, given how interlinked our lives always were. I stood to gain so much. He supported and backed my rise to pahkan. He’s both Bee’s father and, if I push him wrong, her worst nightmare. Most of all, he is the key to doubling my kingdom overnight. All I’ve had to do was play my cards right.
So, even when I’d have preferred to put the arrogant motherfucker in his place, I’ve stayed my hand; I’ve played the long game.
Now, I think I’ve played it too well. Made the motherfucker far too comfortable. Vittorio Zanetti needs to understand that he doesn’t pull the strings.
I do.
I push past Bee and leave the office. “Where are you going?” she calls out after me.
I don’t bother answering. She can draw her own conclusions; I’ve got shit I need to handle.
I pull out my phone and dial Aleksandr. He answers right away. “Yo, bro. What’s?—”
“Where is he?”
“La Vita Oscura,” he answers immediately, dropping the cheery tone. “His little nightclub in River North. Showed up a couple of minutes ago.”
“Do you have eyes on him?”
“Not right this minute. We left. Do you want me to double back?”
“No. I’ll handle this myself.”
Within twenty minutes, I’m parking outside the gloomy facade of the club. A valet comes scurrying up to try whining to me about where I can and cannot leave my vehicle, so I throw five hundred dollars in his face without breaking stride.
He’ll be in the Red Bar, I’m sure, just like he always is. The hostesses and servers greet me with choruses of “Good evening, Mr. Egorov,” but just like with the valet, I ignore them all.
I’m here for one man and one man only.
Sure enough, he’s sprawled in one of the leather armchairs with Alberto and a bevy of young women who are paid handsomely to pretend as though they’re interested in what Vittorio has to say.
I make no secret of my entrance. All eyes flit to me at once. Vittorio’s are bright and blue in the red-tinged darkness. Beneath them, his lips spread in a weak facsimile of a smile.
But I don’t bother stopping. That’s what he wants; that’s what he expects. And I’m not playing by his terms anymore. He’s going to come to me.
So I keep on going without stopping and find a perch in the Ice Bar at the back. In here, all the red lights are gone. It’s cool, silvery blue everywhere, and the temperature suits me far better. I can see my breath pluming in the air as the bartender slides me a vodka neat across the frozen surface of the bar counter.
Almost as soon as the first tang of liquor hits my tongue, Alberto steps up next to me. “Dmitri, how nice to see you here. It’s been a while.”
I drain my glass, set it down, and lock eyes with the bartender. “Another.”
In the corner of my vision, I see Alberto blink. “Would you care to join us?” he tries again.
I take up the drink once the bartender has replaced it with a fresh one and throw it back in one gulp again. Only then do I set it down and drag my eyes over to Alberto. “If I cared to join you where you were, Alberto, I would have done it. Tell Zanetti he can come talk to me here.”
