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It was the most beautiful sight I’ve laid my eyes on.
I am one fucking lucky girl.
Chapter 1
Roman
“You certainly have a way with entrances, my dear Roman.”
Under the vast, jeweled night sky of St. Petersburg, the spring air carries the scent of blossoming cherry trees, the chill of winter finally retreating. I, Roman Nicolaevich, step out of a sleek black Rolls-Royce, flanked by two resplendent women, Svetlana and Sasha, their dazzling gowns swaying with every calculated move. My bespoke, three-piece suit hugs my frame, a razor-sharp silhouette against the city lights.
The words came from Svetlana, one of my dates for the evening, delivered in a soft, sensual purr. I flash her a wolfish grin in response, a flicker of amusement dancing in my eyes.
“You play your cards right, gorgeous, and perhaps tonight you’ll see what else I have a way with.”
She moves against me in response, grinding her hip against my side for the briefest of moments as we make our way up the marble stairs. Sasha watches the two of us, her eyes betraying a calculation of her own, as if she’s wondering how to gain my favor.
Power plays upon power plays. Welcome to my life.
Tonight's spectacle is a charity gala marking the inauguration of the newly minted Zephyr Art Museum, a colossal monument of gleaming glass and chrome not too far from the Winter Palace, emblematic of the city's relentless march toward modernity. Laughter echoes from the marbled entrance as the city's elite gather, their pearls and diamonds glimmering under the opulent chandeliers.
As we cross the sprawling, lavishly decorated hall, I feel the weight of curious gazes on me. I’ve made a name for myself in Moscow as a successful businessman, but in St. Petersburg, I'm a fresh face—an intriguing variable in the established equation.
Andrei and Sandra, my brother and sister-in-law, respectively, co-pakhans of the Antonov-Nicolaevich Bratva, have entrusted me with a mission. Our stronghold in Moscow isn't enough, and St. Petersburg is the next logical step in our expansion. I'm the chosen delegate, the Closer, as they call me, sent to pave the way for our family's venture.
Beyond the clinking glasses and the whispered conversations, a figure draws my attention. Mayor Sergei Yeltsin, an influential, rotund man with a reputation for being inscrutable and, dare I say, incorruptible.
But incorruptible hardly means immune to influence. Everyone wants something, even good little boys like the mayor. Gaining favor is a simple process, really, and can be summed up in three parts. First, you position yourself near them. Second, you find out what they want. Third, you give it to them.
Or, even better, you dangle thepossibilityof giving it to them. Either way is useful for having your target dance like a little puppet.
"Would you ladies excuse me for a moment?" I say, my eyes never leaving the mayor. They nod, coy smiles playing on their lips, fully aware of the game about to be played.
I thread my way through the crowd, taking a moment to appreciate the art on display. I've always had a taste for beauty, whether it be in women, art, or power. Tonight, I find myself admiring all three.
"Mayor Yeltsin." I extend my hand, my charismatic smile practiced and disarming. He turns, raising an eyebrow before accepting my hand. His nearby bodyguards move in slowly, ready to dismiss me should they have to. The mayor keeps them at a distance with a quick, sweeping gesture.
"Ah, you must be Roman Nicolaevich. I’ve heard interesting things about you," he muses, his voice as deep as the Volga. "Charismatic, sarcastic, and quite the negotiator."
"I’m flattered, Mayor," I respond, the corners of my mouth tilting upward. My reputation precedes me, it seems.
“Not to mention,” he continues, “a somewhat unknown entity in our fair city.”
I grin broadly, warmly. “A mere entrepreneur – a serial one, you could say – ready to expand my operations. What better place than Russia’s crown jewel?”
“A serial entrepreneur… and a serial playboy,if my sources aren’t mistaken,” he adds, glancing over my shoulder at Svetlana and Sasha, the women sipping their champagne and chatting with one another while stealing coy glances in my direction.
His sources. No doubt the mayor has heard rumors of just who I am. However, I’m uniquely positioned in my family, the by-the-books face of our perfectly legal businesses. Therefore, there’s a bit of plausible deniability to me.
Then again, perhaps the good mayor isn’t so good, and his own mind is racing with calculations, figuring out how to get me close so he can crush meandmy family.Or, judging by the way his hungry gaze lingers on Sasha and Svetlana, maybe I’ve already figured out what he wants, what truly motivates him.
“Guilty as charged,” I say, holding up my hands in mock admission. “What’s life without the company of beautiful women? Drab, colorless, boring.”
“That is true.” His eyes are still on my dates, the women matching his gaze with sensual smiles.
"Tell me, have you had a chance to appreciate this piece?" I gesture toward a particularly captivating portrait, using it as an opportunity to steer our conversation. “Or has something else caught your eye this evening?”
He snaps back into the moment, tearing his eyes from the women and latching them onto the piece. “It’s lovely, quite something.” He clears his throat, and I sense he realizes I’ve caught him in his vice.
