Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Katya
I’ve got bad vibes about tonight. Something feels off, and my instincts have kept me alive too long for me to ignore them. I’ve been to tons of parties, I’ve been a honey pot before—this isn’t something new. But still, tonight feels weird. Even worse, my dress doesn’t leave me any place to hide a weapon.
Markus did recon on this place a few days ago and tonight he’s posing as a waiter. He’s supposed to be here, but I haven’t seen him yet. I’d feel better if I had eyes on my partner instead of relying on a hopeful prayer that he’s safe.
I checked in with the base an hour ago, and we’re all good. But my gut says to check in one more time before walking into the lion’s den wearing a dress made of meat.
The party is at the mountain house, not the villa. It’s isolated, safe, with only one way in and out. Logically, everything seems secure, but I can’t shake this feeling of dread.
One deep breath, and then I’m out of the car.
The mountain house is lit against the night sky. There’s a grand entryway, and the second level has a wraparound balcony. Recon says there are two hidden passageways under the building, but they were sealed off years ago. Recon also discovered that the windows are bulletproof—no outside attacks.
The hallways through the house are lined with fine art and marble floors. It’s more of a California-style interior than the traditional European regal aesthetic. The house is already filled with guests—a few underbosses, oligarchs, and a smattering of family here and there. It’s a different crowd from the previous party.
Uri stands in the corner in a bespoke black suit. I wave to him, and he replies with a curt nod of his head—not even enough movement to stir his slicked-back hair. A sort of cold reception. I walk through the crowd, taking in all the details. Tiffany jewelry, designer dresses from last year’s fashion week—everything paid for with stolen money or earned in some dubious way.
Still no reply from my most recent check-in. They have a few minutes to respond—everything changes so quickly, and my messages are low on the chain of command.
Dimitri stands next to his brother, pulling on his sleeves. His hair is styled, and his suit custom fit for his body. Only people with money look this good. But there are dark circles under his eyes, and he stifles a little yawn. His brother nudges him, and when Dimitri turns in my direction, his lips curl at the corners.
My body moves toward him, like I’m being pulled by an invisible string.
Damien nods at me, letting out a low whistle. “My God, Katya, you look incredible.”
“Thank you.” I spent two hours on hair and makeup, and this dress with an A-line cut took an extra ten minutes to get on with all the damn little buttons in the back. I should look incredible for all the work I went through.
Dimitri’s gaze remains unwavering as he stares at me, like he’s deciding whether he wants to eat me or kill me. We’ve had hundreds of interactions, but my body reacts differently this time. Usually, I can keep my desires at bay and only allow my brain to imagine his mouth on my body when I’m alone in my bed. But something about the way he’s staring at me—the way his tongue moves in his mouth and his lips part—makes me wish I could taste him.
“Katya,” he says, extending his arm to me, “care to take a walk?”
I link my arm with his. “How could I refuse?” I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.
The people all vanish into sounds and bodies as I lean into Dimitri’s arm and breathe in his cologne.
“My brother is rarely correct, but tonight, I have to agree with him—you look incredible.” His voice is quiet, meant only for my ears.
“Thank you.” As he leads me away from the crowds, I offer a bit of honesty of my own. “You look tired.”
He huffs. “I haven’t slept much.”
“Oh, why?”
“Svetlana.”
Ok, gross. I don’t need to hear about all the ways she kept him awake. My arm drifts away from his, but his grip tightens, almost like a hug.
“I broke off our engagement.”
“Oh no, that’s awful.”
Fuck yeah. Can I do a happy dance? Probably not.
He lets out a small laugh. “You don’t sound like you think it’s a terrible change in my fortune.” He pauses and stops in front of a painting. It’s not one I’m familiar with. It’s amateurish compared to all the fine art on display—just a forest in the summer, green-leafed trees around a lake. He nods. “My mother painted that.”
“Oh. It’s lovely.”
He shrugs. “The proportions are off, and it lacks shading, but she was proud of it, no matter how imperfect it is.” He’s quiet, his focus on the painting. “What did you think about Svetlana?”
“Honestly?”
“I expect honesty.” His voice sounds thicker, like the words were cutting his windpipe as he spoke them.
“I’m not a fan. And by that I mean I hate her. I wish she would get a yeast infection that burns like a thousand hells.”
He snorts all the air out of his lungs, not quite a laugh. “My mother didn’t like her either.” He links our arms and continues to lead us down the hall. “My mother would’ve liked you, though.”
The approval of a long-buried woman warms my soul. I wish I could’ve met her, not just read her basic information in a file.
He opens a door and leads me into a small dark room. “A closet? This house doesn’t have a bigger place to talk?”
His hands wrap around my waist, and he pins me to the door. His lips brush my neck, his warm breath flaming the embers in my core. “I didn’t want to wait anymore to take you upstairs.”
I whisper his name, and he drops feathery kisses around my neck and ear. “Here’s just fine.”
Alone in the darkness, away from cameras and eyes, small moans escape my lips as his hands travel up my side. “I’ve imagined kissing you countless times.” His voice has a deep, husky timbre. I arch my back to allow him to mold my body as he wants. “I’m finally free.” His lips crash against mine, our tongues dancing as we release shared tension. My whole body tingles like a million tiny pinpricks.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling my body closer to his. My fingers run through his perfect hair, fulfilling my long-held desire to touch him. His left hand slides down my dress to the slit that runs up my thigh. His fingers search my body like explorers in an uncharted land—slow, cautious, but excited. His erection presses against my stomach, and my whole being wants him.
“God, you’re better than I’ve imagined.” He groans and goes back for more. His hand cups and massages my breast, and my hands trace his chest and around his belt. Our bodies find a rhythm, searching and stroking through the frustratingly thick fabric.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” I confess, and this hurries his exploration. His knee pushes my legs apart as his fingers pry my panties away from my skin and coax the growing dampness out of me. He feels too fucking amazing with his hand sliding off my breast and up my chest, gently wrapping around my neck.
He breaks away from our kiss. “In my darkest dreams, I was with you. And for the first time, I was happy and content.” His fingers tighten around my neck. “But you’ve been lying to me, Katya.”
Desire transforms into dread. “Dimitri?” I plead.
“God, I fucking wanted it to be you. I’ve never wanted anything more.” In the darkness, I can’t see his expression, but I can feel his anger. “You’ve been lying to me and to my family.”
His other hand leaves between my legs, and it’s instantly wrapped around my throat. His fingers squeeze, and I pull on his arms to break the bond. “I will always choose them over a quick fuck.”
Outside the closet, there’s a pop, followed by screams. The music screeches, and more gunshots and blood-curdling cries echo.
Then it hits me: my team never responded.