Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Moving forward, avoiding Viktoria Petrova as much as possible was Alex’s plan.
He’d barely touched her lips with his. Now it was all he could think about.
How her breath had fanned his face like a warm feather, the brief taste of her lips tantalizingly sweet.
He was on the brink of doing something supremely stupid, and he had to pull back.
Over the last few months, he’d seen her across the room at one event or another.
He’d kept his distance, adeptly avoiding having to speak with her, but it had been impossible not to notice the occasional bruise marring her soft, creamy skin.
If he could maintain his cover and whisk her away from Yuri Petrov, he would.
But again, she wasn’t his business and wasn’t part of the undercover op.
If only Yuri hadn’t ordered him to escort her to Novikov’s New Year’s Eve party.
To keep an eye on her, he’d said, while he took care of some business.
What business, he wouldn’t say, leaving Alex wondering if it had anything to do with another kidnapping.
Whatever was keeping him from attending Novikov’s annual bash had to be important.
A bad feeling overtook him as he turned into Yuri’s driveway. He noted the ridiculous number of motion sensor lights that flicked on every few feet. Yuri had told him the entire property was wired, except for the inside of the house. But only because he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
He parked in front of the garage and tapped his fingers on the wheel.
How long had it been since Diane died? Two years and counting.
In all that time, Viktoria Petrova was the first woman he’d thought about.
On any level, let alone one that was interfering with his mission.
Fate was playing a dangerous game with him.
Alex’s supervisor—Mike Morrison—told him his confidential informant was attending the banquet. This CI hadn’t been returning Mike’s calls, and the guy was their only source of intel on the kidnapping-murder scheme. That was a lead Alex couldn’t pass up.
Several feet before he’d gotten to the front door, the overhead light came on. He rang the doorbell and heard a series of musical gongs. When the door opened, Viktoria’s face was flushed. On her normally pale complexion the color made her even more beautiful.
“Hi,” she said, smiling shyly. She was glowing, vibrant. It was a look he hadn’t seen in the months since he’d gotten to know her a little better. It was also the first time he’d been around her when Yuri wasn’t. “Come in,” she said.
As he went inside, he noted yet another fading bruise on her cheekbone.
He ground his teeth, resisting the urge to punch the wall in lieu of Yuri’s face.
“You look great,” he said. To him, she did.
A modestly cut maroon cocktail dress hugged her body in all the right places.
Unlike the other women in Bratva circles, the only jewelry she wore were tiny pearl studs in her ears.
“No, I don’t. Did Yuri order you to flatter me all night? You don’t have to, you know. I won’t rat you out.”
“Those were my words, not his.”
A near-smile lit her face again, and his heart constricted painfully. He’d bet money Yuri never complimented her about her looks or anything else.
She tucked a strand of thick gold hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” She gave him a look that said she was truly sorry, but he hardly noticed. He was gone, lost, sinking into the entrancing blue whirlpool of her eyes.
“Forget it,” he managed to choke out. “C’mon. Let’s go eat some of that expensive food Novikov’s paying for.” He held out his arm, serious about the food. She wasn’t eating enough.
She took one last look at herself in the hallway mirror, frowning, then removed the pearl studs from her ears and set them beside the laptop resting on the hall table.
“Why did you take those off?”
“Because Yuri gave them to me, he––”
“He what?” Alex prodded. When she hesitated, he understood. He worked for her husband. She had to assume anything she said would get back to him. “You can tell me anything, and it stays between us. You can trust me.”
Viktoria seemed to mull over his words a moment longer. “I know. Somehow, I do know that.” She picked up a small framed photo perched on the table. The woman in the photo looked like an older version of her.
“Your mother?” He indicated the photo.
“Yes.” She sighed sadly. “After I told Yuri the earrings my mother gave me were missing, he gave me these. I think he took my mother’s earrings because he knew how much I loved them.
I have a feeling the ones he gave me are stolen, and I hate them.
” She sniffled and her eyes glistened. “My mother’s earrings were so much prettier.
They had a diamond stud and pearl teardrops.
I don’t have the courage to tell her they’re gone. ”
Viktoria never ceased to surprise him. She was married to a criminal but didn’t want to wear something Yuri had stolen.
Early on in this op, one of his assignments had been to determine if she played any role in Yuri’s crimes.
He’d already reported to his boss that she didn’t seem to condone Yuri’s way of life or participate in it in any way.
Even this house, furnished with pricey but coldly sterile furnishings didn’t match her personality. There wasn’t a shred of color or warmth anywhere. The more time he spent on this case, the more he was convinced she didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong with Yuri Petrov.
As he watched her struggle to keep from crying, he wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss away the sadness Yuri had so obviously put there. But he couldn’t. She was a mobster’s wife, and he had a job to do.
He held out his arm again. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She put on a brave smile, and when she hooked her arm in the crook of his, he swore her fingerprints branded right through his jacket and shirt, straight onto his skin.
With all the Bentleys and Mercedes that had been lined up waiting for valet service, by the time they got inside, the party was already in full swing with over three hundred people.
The entire Novikov family and business network were already at the Bolshoi Banquet Hall, along with several high-ranking city officials that should not, in Alex’s opinion, be mingling with known Bratva.
There was no accounting for taste or brains where politicians were concerned.
He ushered Viktoria ahead of him while mentally noting the names of the officials.
A stage had been erected at one side of the room for the Las Vegas dancers Novikov had flown in specially for his party.
Pop music pounded from overhead speakers.
Colorful flashing lights twirled high above the stage, reflecting off the dancers’ pink feather costumes that reminded Alex of flamingos.
Some of the dancers were topless, wearing nothing but beads and gold nipple tassels swinging back and forth.
Several boys Alex knew were no more than ten years old took full advantage, resting their chins on the edge of the stage to get an up close and personal view of the show.
Since Novikov was top dog, his parties had to be the most extravagant.
Enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
Twenty-foot-long tables had been erected, each with at least five bottles of Beluga vodka, several bowls of caviar, and enough platters of appetizers to cover the entire surface.
With his height, Alex was taller than most of the guests.
As he neared the bar, he continually searched for Mike’s CI.
It seemed like half the guests—men and women—were throwing back shots of vodka or Cognac.
The men wore pricey suits, big gold chains, and diamond-encrusted watches.
All the women were decked out in dresses representing every color in the rainbow.
There were enough gold, jewelry, and expensive watches in the place to stock a hundred jewelry stores on Chicago’s Magnificent Mile.
With Viktoria right behind him, Alex elbowed his way closer to the bar, clearing a path for them and shaking hands with a few of Yuri’s and Lebedev’s people along the way.
Enormous Russian bear statues flanked both sides of the long mahogany bar.
Multi-colored streamers dangled overhead.
All in all, the place reminded him of a traditional Russian supper club.
When they reached the bar, he ordered a glass of Chardonnay for Viktoria and a Chivas-on-the-rocks for himself.
“Hello, Vika.” Olga Lebedev had addressed Viktoria but her eyes were busy taking a walk all over him. Her pink streetwalker cocktail dress exposed more of her legs and breasts than he ever cared to see.
“Hi, Olga.” Viktoria smiled at the other woman but something about the tension at the corners of her mouth told him she didn’t care for Lebedev’s wife.
Smart. He didn’t, either. Not only didn’t he trust her, but the woman had a way of raping a man just by looking at him, and she didn’t seem to care who noticed.
Olga turned her assessment on Viktoria, perusing her simple dress and pursing her red lips in obvious disapproval.
“I’m surprised Yuri let you out of the house to come and play without him.
But I see you have a bodyguard this evening.
” Sidling closer to him, she batted her fake eyelashes as she ran her hand up and down his biceps in a way that left no doubt as to her intentions.
“I’m here alone, too.” She winked, sending him yet another clear message, one completely overshadowed by what she’d just divulged.
For Yuri and Lebedev to miss Novikov’s prestigious party, not only was something important going down tonight, but he’d bet his ass they were doing it together.