Chapter One
In which Caroline would rather be anywhere else. Doing her taxes, cleaning out the garbage cans, getting a colonoscopy…
Caroline…
Cocktail parties are a special kind of hell.
I mean, not always. If I'm working them in my professional capacity, checking with catering, making sure the flower arrangements are there on time and we have the correct liquor and enough of it, then, it's fun.
But tonight, I'm standing in my best little black dress, a Balenciaga that shows off my ass without being too obvious, holding a glass of wine and wearing a serene expression. And I would set fire to the ballroom if it meant I could get out of here.
Ordinarily, I'm not prone to arson, even if my family back in Boston was considered "Mafia-lite."
Liria was insistent that I needed to be at this get-together.
"The whole family is coming," she'd said, her pale gray eyes glowing affectionately.
"You're new in town, you need to get to know everyone.
" I moved to New York from Boston less than a month ago, lured by Liria and Alexsey's baby twins and, to be honest, my crippling loneliness.
There was nothing left for me back home.
There's a gorgeous buffet laid out, several Russian delicacies like an extensive caviar bar, oysters on the half shell, dainty pastry puffs filled with crab, bacon-wrapped scallops.
As snacks go, they're fine, I suppose. But where are the tasty little desserts? There are no tiny cheesecakes that you can pop whole into your mouth, no mini meringues with lemon curd. Personally, I feel the lack of Cheetos is a serious oversight. And there’s not even any fancy potato chips, like the eighty bucks a bag Vandy chips.
I plowed through a bag of their Herbes de Provence version once that left me with a severe stomachache but a deep sense of fulfillment.
Turning in search of Liria, I walk right into a man. A giant one, and I nearly bounce off him before he catches me by the elbow. "Oh, excuse me," I chuckle weakly. "I don't usually tackle other partygoers."
"This is a crowded room," he says charmingly. "I'm Nikandr Morozov. And you are…?"
Nikandr has a pleasant, social smile on his face and it's clear he doesn't remember me.
***
It was two weeks ago at Hotel Lyric. I was in the office just behind the reception desk going over some numbers. It was after midnight but I wanted to make sure that I had the account straight for the catering department.
There was a deep voice at the front desk, more of a rumble, and I heard our concierge, Anita, giggle. My brow went up. Anita is forty-five and rigidly professional, and she was giggling like a schoolgirl. "Hello Mr. Morozov, it's an honor to have you here tonight."
One of the Morozovs? I thought I should go out and say hello.
Opening the door, I watched the action at the other end of the granite reception counter.
It’s a gorgeous space, with enormous flower arrangements on either side of the counter and beautiful lighting to showcase the mural behind the desk of a slightly surreal New York City skyline.
Standing on the other side of the desk was another enormously tall Morozov.
If for no other reason, I would have known he was a member of the family due to his height, broad shoulders and the stupid 50's movie star square jaw that they all seem to have.
This one was blonde, hair swept back and wearing a beautifully tailored dark blue suit with a couple of buttons open on his white dress shirt, showing the barest bit of a colorful tattoo.
He was smiling at Anita, whose shaking fingers were typing something in the reservation schedule.
Next to this tall, gorgeous man was a blonde teetering on high heels, her arm tucked into his. The woman's entire body was fastened onto his as if she was trying to absorb herself genetically into his suit.
"Let me just see what suites we have available," Anita said, still tapping on her keyboard. I moved over next to her and smiled professionally.
"Good evening, Mr. Morozov." I gave his blonde friend a nod and a smile, too, but her eyes never diverted from his profile.
Not that I could blame her. It's one hell of a profile.
He smiled blankly at me, continuing to speak to an increasingly flustered Anita.
I leaned a little closer to Anita. "The Morozovs keep the four top suites available at all times," I murmur, pointing at the layout of the top floor. "This one is occupied, the other three are available. I would suggest Suite 1010; it has the best view of the city."
She mumbled a grateful "Thank you," typing quickly and programming two room cards.
"Enjoy your evening," I said and he made a polite sort of noise as he glanced at his phone.
Delightful, I think.
I checked the name on the screen briefly.
Nikandr Morozov. That would make him one of Yuri and Tania's sons.
I'd met them at a get-together at Maksim and Ella's house.
They were both so charming. Yuri still had the suave old-world style of Russia, and Tania was a bright-eyed chatterbox.
Nothing like this haughty little prince.
Turning briefly, I saw they were already at the elevator.
He had his hand on her waist, leaning down to briefly kiss her shoulder.
She'd made a strange sort of full body shimmy, like she couldn't believe she had a Morozov in her clutches.
His eyes rose briefly over her shoulder and locked with mine for a minute before dropping again.
I shrugged and headed back into the office. Good for her. Hopefully, he was spectacular in bed to make up for his imperious personality. Anita told me the next day that she had to send up housekeeping twice that night when he called down for fresh sheets and towels.
***
Asshole.
I clear my throat. "Caroline Basha."
"Ah. Of course," he says, giving me a brief, professional smile. The one meant for clients and brief acquaintances while you're waiting for someone more important to pass by. "You're Liria's cousin from Boston."
"That would be me," I agree blandly, taking an inelegant gulp of my wine and wondering if a simple about face and wandering away would be considered rude. I know the hierarchy of the Bratva, though I don't know if I can get shot in the back of the head for ghosting the Sovietnik.
Andrey glides over to us. He's Nikandr's twin and while they're not identical, the resemblance is almost eerie until you realize that Andrey is possibly not human, but most likely some concoction of a supermodel and a Colossal Nvidia computer.
"Nikandr," he says, no change in tone to indicate that he's related to this man, "I want to introduce you to Judge Meacham, he will be here in about ten minutes."
A grin stretches across into Nikandr's face, so sincere that it's blinding, his even, white teeth looking positively carnivorous. "Excellent," he says. "The man must really love you to show up at a Bratva gathering."
"He knows who he answers to," Andrey shrugs elegantly. He's holding a glass of scotch, unlike the rest of the Russians and their filthy love of vodka. It's an expensive one. I can smell the oak, a deep char, and woody vanilla. Maybe a Macallan 25 Year single malt.
His chilly gaze turns to me and he inclines his head slightly.
"Caroline." He says it matter-of-factly, as if in fact my name was not really Caroline, I would have to go and legally change it tomorrow because he's deemed it so.
"I understand Liria and Alexsey are very happy that you've moved here.
It's good that the memories of your brothers' deaths haven't impacted your choice. "
I tap my fingernail on my wine glass, trying to absorb this. Is he being kind? Is he being unbelievably cruel? Does he want to poke me a little bit, just to see what comes oozing out? Or, is he just a conscienceless prick? I smile politely. I'm not giving him anything.
Nikandr's brow wrinkles briefly. "Brothers?"
Andrey turns to him, "The two men who held Liria captive last year," he pauses, "Mikal and Bobby, wasn't it? They were Caroline's brothers. I'm sure it's been a shock for her." He says it indifferently as he finishes his drink.
A hot flush of shame pours down my back like a bucket of scalding water. I know everyone's aware of my idiot - and as it turned out - traitorous, brothers and what they'd done, but no one had the gall to spit it into my face like that.
Nikandr glances at me briefly before something shuts off in his eyes and he says, "Ah." That's it. Just like he's analyzed and categorized everything he needs to know about me and he turns, clapping Andrey on the shoulder. "Let's go find Judge Meacham."
No one is looking at me. I know they're not. Everyone's talking and laughing, deep in their own conversations, but I feel horribly exposed. Like those dreams where you're taking a crucial test in high school and you're stark naked.
Gulping down the rest of my wine, I head to the bar, heels clicking briskly, handing the bartender my empty glass. After one more glass of wine, it should be enough time where I can get out of here without seeming to be rude to Liria. I know she was excited about this party.
Nodding and smiling at the correct intervals, I sit through a conversation with Violet, she's married to Alexsey's brother Roman, and her twin sisters about the best summer internships to apply for before deeming I've done my time.
"Well, goodnight. I have an early day at the Lyric so, I'll just-"
"What are you doing!" Liria materializes at my side. "You're not going anywhere, fam. There's a poker tournament about to start in the next room and we are playing." She's grinning as wide as a jack o'lantern and I know I'm not getting out of this.
"And who is playing in this magical tournament?" I ask, resigned as she takes my arm, plowing through the crowd like a partygoer at a rave in search of glowsticks.
"Several of the Morozovs," she throws me another grin over her shoulder. "They all know nice and professional Caroline from the hotel, but-"
An unattractive snort bursts from me at that statement. "You're apparently forgetting my visit here last year."
"What they don't know are your many special qualities," she finishes gleefully, ignoring me. "But they're about to get a show."