Chapter 24
DMITRI
The Belvedere tonight is a carefully curated blend of ice and fire. Opulence drips from every surface—marble imported from Carrara, gold-leaf ceilings, the low, resonant thrum of a live jazz band over the buzz of conversation.
This is the annual Winter Ball, the single most important social function of the year for the Bratva of New York City, a glittering display of power, wealth, and allegiance.
“Breathe, Clara,” I murmur close to her ear. “You’ve faced tougher adversaries in court.”
She is stunning, a dangerous counterpoint to the couture and diamonds surrounding us.
She wears a deep emerald gown that accentuates her dark hair and makes her hazel eyes glow like amber.
But the elegance can't entirely mask the rigidity in her shoulders, the slight tension around her eyes and mouth. I’d even heard her being sick in the bathroom earlier, though she had tried to hide it.
“The people I’ve faced in court didn’t look like they could order a hit over a misplaced canapé,” she whispers back, managing a tight smile for appearance’s sake. “I’m a corporate lawyer, Dmitri. Before I met you, my biggest threat was a poorly drafted arbitration clause.”
My thumb rubs a soothing circle into her skin. “You are protected. Stand tall, smile, and show them that you belong next to me.”
They need to see that you are not fragile, I think but don’t say.
I keep Clara tethered to me, my hand firmly placed on the small of her back.
My touch is constant, a silent declaration of possession to both reassure her and warn every ambitious man and jealous woman in the room exactly whom she belongs with.
That, and to reassure myself that she is, indeed, safe and with me.
I’m still shaken from the attempt on her life.
I cover my anxiety with my shield of ice and lethal charisma, which I have cultivated and honed to a sharp point over my years as pakhan.
We move through the reception hall, a current against the tide of lesser players.
I introduce Clara with deliberate formality, never removing my hand from her back.
By bringing Clara here, I am locking her into the fortress of my business and my bratva, promoting the fact that any further attack on her will be an attack on me and the operation itself.
“That is Konstantin Ivanov,” I murmur to Clara as we approach a mountain of a man, with dark, hard eyes that rarely blink. His wife is Vera. “Konstantin, my friend.”
We shake formally.
“Dmitri.” His voice is a deep rumble, his accent far thicker than mine and barely intelligible. “I heard there was someone new in your life. Who is this enchanting young woman?”
“Clara.” I slip my arm around her waist. “My legal counsel at Smirnov Corp. and my guest tonight.” I emphasize the word guest just enough to imply what she is to me without saying it aloud.
Konstantin’s smile is all teeth. “A lawyer? We usually keep them in cages, Dmitri. Good to see you’ve trained yours well.”
I feel Clara stiffen, her tight smile never leaving her face.
Vera, a statuesque blonde encased in platinum silk, offers Clara a hand. Her eyes, however, are colder than the ice in her martini. “A corporate lawyer, how fascinating. Most of us here prefer to leave the paperwork for the accountants, dear. We find the world of high-stakes litigation draining.”
Clara meets her gaze evenly, refusing to be dismissed. “On the contrary, Vera. I find that high-stakes litigation offers the most fascinating glimpse into human nature. After all, the only real difference between a courtroom, a boardroom, and this room is the attire.”
Vera’s smile tightens, but I also glimpse a flicker of genuine respect in her eyes.
I imagine she expected some young airhead who was simply here to look good on my arm.
But my Clara is so much more. My grip on Clara's waist tightens, pride welling in me along with warmth and appreciation for this unexpected blessing in my life.
We spend the next half hour navigating a sea of old and new power in the city—even some old-money families who circulate within our circles—as well as a few developers who were fortunate enough to gain entry and invitation into these hallowed halls.
As the evening wears on and the jazz softens to welcome slow dancing couples, Clara and I find a quiet corner near the tall, arched windows overlooking the city.
“You’ve handled yourself well,” I say, my voice low as I nuzzle her hair, taking in her scent. “You didn't flinch, not even when that brute Leonid Vasiliev showed his teeth.”
Clara leans her head against my shoulder, letting the tension bleed out of her neck. “I wasn't flinching for anyone,” she confesses quietly. “But I was calculating how many years in a federal penitentiary I’d face if I accidentally pushed that Playboy Bunny of his into the chocolate fountain.”
I laugh, a genuine, rare, deep chuckle that turns the heads of couples nearby. “Ignore them,” I say, squeezing Clara close, drawing her in with the protective curve of my body.
“See? You fit perfectly,” I murmur, my breath warm against her hair.
Clara doesn’t say anything. She just nestles closer to me before I lead her out of our temporary haven and back to the floor. We make a few more rounds of the room before Clara asks, “Can we find a place to sit down? I’m feeling a little tired.”
Concern jumps as I glance down and see that she is pale. “Of course.”
I hurry Clara over to the bar and sit her down in one of the velvet couches that have been so carefully maintained for over a century now. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
“Water, please,” she says quickly, my concern spiking at how pale she is and how weak her voice sounds.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her, keeping her in my sight the entire time as I step up to the bar and order. I’m waiting for the water when someone catches my attention as they settle beside me.
“Dmitri.”
Natasha looks striking tonight. Her gown, fitted to hug her curves and showcase her assets, reflects the chandelier's light.
“Natasha. Dobryy vecher,” I greet her.
She doesn’t look at me but sweeps the area near the bar until her gaze falls on Clara. “I see you brought your new legal star.” Her voice is smooth and nonchalant. “Very professional of you, Dimochka.”
“You look well, Tasha.” I ignore the comment about Clara’s status, disguising it beneath a subtle dig.
Her dark eyes flick to me, taking in my presence with a look that is almost hungry. “I dressed with you in mind tonight,” she says breezily, as though I can’t see the lust creeping into her eyes. “I know exactly what you like.”
She holds my gaze, waiting for me to acknowledge the suggestion in her crafted words.
“You’ll have to find someone else who appreciates you tonight.” The bartender hands me the glass of water and a damp bar towel, which I take with a nod of thanks and turn away. “Enjoy your evening, Tasha.”
Her hand snaps out and grasps my wrist, her sharp nails digging into my skin. “Why her?” she hisses, too low for anyone else to hear. “Why her, Dmitri? What does she have that I don’t? She doesn’t belong in our world. She knows nothing about our world.”
“Take your hand off me,” I warn quietly.
“I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted, Dmitri. We can combine our empires and rule not just the city, but the whole Eastern Seaboard. We belong together, you and I. Why can’t you see that?”
“Control yourself,” I snap in a frigid whisper, breaking her hold on me with a single jerk of my wrist. But I’ve only managed a single step when she grabs me again.
“You came to me after Lauren’s death. Surely, I mean something to you beyond—”
“That was a mistake.” My words are clipped with ice and steel, and Natasha flinches. “It was a brief, desperate entanglement when I was drowning and seeking any kind of sensation, not salvation. You’ve never understood that. You’ve always confused convenience and pleasure with actual feelings.”
A hand slips into the crook of my elbow, and I almost turn and snarl until I realize it’s Clara’s. My body and my heart are learning the sense of her.
She stands beside me, still pale but with her head held high, even as Natasha's gaze sweeps over her with practiced malice.
“Surprised to see you here,” she sneers.
“Are you still going over case briefs with your boss? You know, in this world, we often find that the most brilliant minds come at the expense of certain attributes men find attractive.” She smiles, a perfect, predatory curve of her lips.
“You work so hard, I hope you manage to find time for a pastry once in a while. You look as though you might blow away.”
The implication hangs in the air as Natasha waits for Clara to look down in shame.
But Clara doesn't flinch. Instead, she straightens, her smile blossoming into something that is both devastatingly beautiful and absolutely terrifying. The warmth in her hazel eyes sharpens to a glare.
“Thank you, Natasha.” She steps closer, moving slightly out of my protective circle.
“That’s actually a wonderful observation.
I do find that I have prioritized mental agility and strength over anything else.
It makes it much easier to run circles around the competition, and any man who is worth it appreciates my type of attributes. ”
Natasha’s cruel smile falters, dissolving instantly into cold rage. Clara has not only bitten back, but she's used Natasha’s own superficial measure to deliver a lethal comeback.
My anger, which had been ready to fly to Clara's defense, becomes another surge of pride. I step forward, letting my hand slide back around Clara’s waist. My woman is razor sharp and beautiful, and her words can be lethal.
“I want you to know, Tasha,” I say, making sure to meet her eyes, “any further commentary about Clara, her appearance, her presence, or her abilities, will be regarded as commentary about me. Do you understand?”
“Oh, trust me, you are making damn sure everyone in this room knows that.”