Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
KIRA
“Does that man ever give you a moment to yourself?” Liza shoots Roman a disdainful look from across the living room. Not that Roman’s noticed. He’s busy pacing, alternating between talking and typing on his phone. It's been like this all morning.
“Ignore him. He’s too busy with whatever is going on to care about what we’re doing.” I shift, reaching for the pot of tea and pouring us each a cup.
It’s not like he doesn’t give us space, but I understand her annoyance—having him shadow me everywhere is irritating. On the bright side, at least it's not Pavel. That would be a nightmare I wouldn't wish on anyone.
We’ve decided meeting at her family’s estate is the safest bet. No Nadya hovering nearby and less chance of listening devices planted on the property, or at least here in the living room only the women use to entertain. We’re seated around a small table, fashion magazines spread out in front of us.
When Roman thinks we’re thumbing through the latest styles, he’s happy to ignore us. Which is the point. But when I turn back to get a better look at him, his eyes are glued to us as if we’re actually doing something of interest.
No, correction. Not glued to me. Glued to Liza. He’s returning her dark scowl. I suppose the feeling is mutual.
“How do we get rid of him?” She glowers his way, the midday light casting soft shadows across her face.
I laugh. “We don’t. Ignore him. He’s staring to be a dick.” I stick my tongue out at Roman, and he returns a one-finger salute, then goes back to typing furiously on his phone.
Since Roman was assigned as my guard, we’ve settled into a kind of sibling-like relationship. I tease him, he rolls his eyes and acts like I’m not hilarious, but overall it’s an easy vibe between us, which is more than I can say about the others in the household.
Since the Society photo shoot, I have seen little of Maxim.
He falls into bed in the early hours of the morning and is always gone by the time I wake.
The only sign he’s slept in the same room as me is his scent still clinging to his pillow.
A scent somewhere between musk, leather, and man.
Not that I’ve spent too long analyzing it.
Not that I bury my face in his pillow and inhale deeply. Who would do that?
Back when I lived in New York, I used to jolt awake, heart pounding, drenched in guilt over Masha’s death. But lately, that hasn’t happened. The nightmares come, but they also fade away before they wake me up. Which makes no sense because I literally sleep in her killer’s bed.
Maybe peace comes knowing I’ll get my revenge soon. Not that I’ve made much headway. Snooping around the house is near impossible with guards and cameras everywhere, and Maxim’s inner circle is tight-lipped. Tonight will be my first real opportunity to dig.
We have dinner at Mayor Rashnikov’s home, along with other prominent guests.
Earlier today, Liza gave me a lay of the land—a who’s who of Russian politics, business, and culture.
Much has changed since I left nearly five years ago.
But it’s the mayor that I will be focused on.
Liza agreed he knows everyone’s secrets—blackmail is his stock in trade—and he has a weakness for women.
Which is super icky, but it also makes him a perfect source. I just need to get him alone.
When I glance up from the magazine I was casually flipping through, Roman is in front of me, a phone pressed to his ear.
“Hold on,” he says into the receiver. To me, he says, “I have to go out and deal with something. Will you be okay here for a bit?” His eyes ping between Liza and me.
She picks up another magazine and thumbs through it, purposefully ignoring Roman’s presence.
“It’s fine. Go deal with what you need to. I’ll be right here.”
Roman nods. “I won’t be long.”
I shoo him away with my hands.
Liza’s family has plenty of guards around.
It’s probably the only reason he feels comfortable stepping away.
While it hasn’t been explicitly said, I can tell things are heating up with the Black Company.
Maxim, Pavel, and Roman have been locked up in meetings most days, and everyone seems …
I don’t know. Tense. Although, maybe they are always like this.
It’s not like they tell me shit. I’m only the arm candy.
Liza watches him walk away, a curious expression on her face. “Shocker. He’s leaving you unattended for more than five minutes.”
I bite out a laugh. “Guess I’ve been on good behavior. But now that we’re alone…” I scoot forward in my seat. “Have you spoken to your father yet?”
She looks down at her hands and fidgets. There’s something she doesn’t want to tell me.
“Out with it,” I demand.
“He’s still in Poland, but we spoke on the phone. He told me not to stick my nose into other people's business. Said I was going to get myself into trouble asking questions about Belov.”
My heart sinks. I was really counting on Boris and his loose lips. “But … didn’t you remind him he’s the one who spilled the beans in the first place?”
"Of course. It doesn’t mean anything, only that my father is now sober enough to be scared of Belov.” Her eyes soften with a hint of sympathy.
I slump back into my seat. “It makes getting the mayor alone tonight that much more important.”
“He’s a major creep, Kira. I’m really not sure it’s worth it.”
“Come on,” I plead. “It’s my only chance.”
She sighs. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
When I agree, she gives me a mischievous smile.
“By the way, look what just went live online.” She holds her phone between us, and I realize we’re looking at Society Magazine’s website, featuring pictures of Maxim and me.
“Holy shit, that was fast. It’s only been a few days since we did the shoot.”
“Uh, how about: holy shit, you guys look like you’re about to rip each other's clothes off and go at it in front of the crew.”
“What?” I grab the phone from her to take a closer look.
I'm seated on Maxim's lap, my back pressed against his chest. One of his strong arms snakes around my waist, pulling me closer, while the other hand rests possessively on my thigh. My head is tilted to the side, our lips inches apart. Maxim stares at me like he wants to throw me down and fuck me into the floor, and I look like I wouldn’t mind it one bit.
A nervous laugh bubbles up my throat. “It’s not how it looks.”
“I’m sure. I know how it is with the photographer posing you and all. Obviously, you don’t want Maxim. He’s the enemy.”
"Exactly!" I bite my lip.
These pictures certainly bring the heat.
Truth be told, my big plan to tease Maxim also affected me.
My panties were soaked by the end of the photo shoot.
If some higher power exists, my first question when I get to the pearly gates will be why they had to give the devil incarnate a panty-melting smile and a voice that drips like honey.
Ugh. He really is the worst.
Liza takes her phone from my hands and scrolls through the image gallery. “This photographer sure is talented. I can see why they rushed to publish these. Well … that, and everyone wants to know more about the elusive Maxim Belov and the young beauty who captured his heart.” She winks at me.
“Puke,” I say, with an eye roll. “The real version would be much more shocking. ‘Young bratva princess marries her aunt’s suspected killer’. Or ‘Evil oligarch marries his daughter’s best friend to improve his public image’.”
Liza dissolves into a fit of laughter. “Truth is always stranger than fiction. Anyhow…” She wipes her tears. “Do you know what you’re going to wear tonight?”
I shrug. “One of the dresses we bought together at the boutique.”
Usually I’d feel more excited about the possibility of dressing up, but today my heart is feeling a little heavy.
Back at home, Aly would be my unofficial stylist, choosing my outfit and suggesting accessories.
It’s not like I had time for that shit. I was running a bratva with my brothers.
Here, I do nothing but swan around the mansion all day and meet with Liza.
I try to remind myself that this is the only way, a means to an end.
Once I’ve avenged my aunt’s murder, I can go back home.
I can be close to Aly and join my brothers again.
I miss strategizing with them in our office above a garment factory in Brooklyn.
I miss being asked my opinion on important matters.
I miss our big family dinners, buzzing with conversation and banter, the table crowded with everyone and their spouses.
Homesickness washes over me, tugging at the corners of my heart.
I lean my elbows onto the table, resting my hand on my jaw. “I’m sure Nadya will have something to say about whatever I wear.”
Before the interview and photoshoot with Society Magazine, she gave me a full morning of instruction on how to be a proper lady as if I didn’t go to the finest boarding schools in Europe.
“Khuy.” Beside me, Liza hisses, calling someone a dick between clenched teeth.
I raise my head, expecting to find Roman back too soon. Instead I find her fiancé, Anatoly, strolling into the living area, head held high as if he owns the property, which given the debts Liza's family owes him, he might. Spotting us, he arrogantly nods his chin and makes his way towards us.
“Fuck me,” Liza grates. “Definitely not an invited guest.”
Yeah, I wouldn’t think so. She is not fond of the man she’s being forced to marry.
As distasteful as I find him, something occurs to me. He could be a source of information. He’s well-connected and, much like the mayor, seems like the type who’d try to have dirt on everyone.
“Kira Antonov. Or should I say, Mrs. Belov?” He smirks at me, but it’s slippery. Like everything else about him. “Congratulations are in order. Although, I admit I’m a bit sore that we didn’t get an invite to the wedding, seeing how we’re old school chums.”
Sure, if that’s how he wants to remember it.