Chapter 3
3
Mak
I step out of the black Maybach, nodding to Pavel to wait. Tonight is business, not pleasure, though my cousin seems determined to blur those lines. The Eclipse acquisition is a necessary strategic expansion. The nightclub offers prime territory and excellent money laundering potential, but Fedor’s insistence on “celebrating” our new venture after the meeting with the Kazanovs seems unnecessary.
“You’ll like Eclipse,” he promised earlier. “The most exclusive club in Manhattan. Only the elite come here. It’s perfect for cementing new relationships.”
What Fedor really means is it’s perfect for flaunting wealth, displaying power, and reminding everyone who controls this city from the shadows. Sometimes, I wonder if he remembers that the point of power isn’t showing it off but wielding it effectively.
Two security guards walk beside me as I approach the unmarked entrance. Leonid leads, scanning constantly like he’s expecting an attack. We’re using the VIP entrance, so there are no long lines or velvet ropes. It’s just us, which makes it easier to pick out danger.
We get inside without an issue, and I’m hit by a wave of music and energy. Eclipse occupies a converted cathedral, its gothic architecture now serving different gods.
Money. Status. Vanity.
Stained glass windows backlit with blue and purple LEDs cast trippy patterns across the dance floor, where beautiful people perform their pre-mating rituals. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, while private booths ring the perimeter like confessionals for the wealthy to whisper their secrets.
It’s another grand playground for the privileged, where nothing real happens, though tonight might be the exception. The only reason I agreed to come was to meet with Kazanov.
“Mr. Vorobev.” The club manager appears, practically bowing. “Your table is ready. Mr. Kazanov’s representatives arrived ten minutes ago.”
I nod once, following him through the crowd. People part instinctively, sensing danger without identifying its source. Some stare too long, drawn to power they can sense but not name. Others avert their eyes, animal instinct recognizing a predator. I’ve grown accustomed to both reactions.
Fedor waits in our reserved VIP section, already entertaining three men in flashy suits, who can only be the Kazanov delegation. Their excessive jewelry and overeager laughter mark them as new money trying too hard. Beside them, my cousin looks positively restrained, though the crystal decanter of vodka on the table suggests they’ve started without me.
“Mak.” Fedor rises, embracing me with theatrical warmth for our audience. His breath smells of expensive liquor. “Finally. I was telling our friends about the expansion opportunities.”
I extract myself from his embrace, nodding to the Kazanovs with precisely calibrated cordiality. This meeting is a courtesy, not a negotiation. The Eclipse purchase moves forward regardless of their feelings, but maintaining peace serves everyone’s interests.
For now.
The eldest Kazanov representative, Demyan, based on Leonid’s intelligence briefing, extends his hand. “Mr. Vorobev, it’s an honor to finally meet you.”
I shake his hand firmly, noting the excessive pressure he applies. Small men always squeeze too hard. “The pleasure is mine.” I sit, smoothly unbuttoning my jacket. A server immediately appears with my preferred vodka, poured without instruction. I assume Fedor must have clued them in, since I haven’t been here before.
I fake a smile. “I trust my cousin has been entertaining you adequately?”
“Very much so.” Demyan grins, revealing a gold tooth that confirms every stereotype. “He tells us the Eclipse acquisition is nearly complete. A significant addition to your portfolio.”
The underlying question is unspoken. How will this affect the delicate territorial balance we’ve maintained? The nightclub sits at the edge of our agreed boundaries, technically neutral ground until now.
“A business decision,” I say smoothly. “The property became available at an attractive price. It’s nothing more complicated than good investment strategy.”
Demyan’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. Business is business. Still, such a prestigious venue naturally attracts... certain clientele. Questions of access and service might arise.”
Translation: Will the Kazanovs still be welcome once the Vorobev organization controls the property? Will their drug distribution through club staff continue uninterrupted?
Fedor jumps in before I can respond. “The Eclipse will operate as neutral territory for select associates. Existing arrangements will continue under new management, with appropriate adjustments to reflect changing ownership.”
I resist the urge to silence him with a look. My cousin speaks too freely and too eagerly. It’s why I keep him away from the most sensitive operations despite our blood connection.
The conversation continues in this vein, with veiled references to territory and market share cloaked in business terminology, while everyone pretends we’re discussing a legitimate enterprise rather than the systematic corruption of an entire city. I participate minimally, letting Fedor handle the details while I observe the Kazanovs’ reactions, cataloging useful information about their priorities and pressure points.
After an hour of this tedious dance, I’ve learned nothing new and my patience wears thin. The club grows more crowded, the music louder, and the air thicker with perfume and desperation. I signal to Leonid that we’ll be concluding soon, but Fedor misinterprets my gesture.
“Drinks,” he announces, signaling a server. “The night is young, and we’re celebrating new partnerships.”
Demyan and his associates cheer this suggestion, already too deep in their cups. I hide my irritation behind a neutral expression, scanning the room while the others discuss which obscenely expensive bottle to order next.
That’s when I see her.
Standing awkwardly near the bar, she’s immediately out of place in this artificial environment, but not because of her appearance. The black dress she wears complements a slender figure, and her face would be considered classically beautiful by any standard, but unlike every other woman in Eclipse tonight, she isn’t putting on a show.
She looks uncomfortable, tugging self-consciously at her hemline while pretending to check her phone, which she’s clearly using as a transparent shield against unwanted attention. When she glances up, scanning the crowd with clear green eyes, I glimpse something rare in this environment. Authenticity.
“Mak?” Fedor’s voice pulls me back to the conversation. “Your opinion on the champagne?”
“Whatever you prefer.” I don’t take my gaze off the woman, watching as she navigates the crowd with obvious discomfort. A group of finance types notice her too, nudging each other and nodding in her direction like wolves spotting an injured deer.
Decision made, I stand abruptly. “Excuse me, gentlemen. There’s a matter requiring my attention.”
Fedor looks startled. “Now? We’re in the middle of?—”
“Continue without me.” My tone allows no argument. “I’ll return shortly.” I have no intention of doing that if I can prevent it.
I move through the crowd with purpose, and Leonid automatically falls into step behind me. When I glance back with a subtle hand signal, he understands immediately and drops back, giving me space while remaining watchful.
The woman is moving faster now, clearly trying to escape the finance wolves’ attention. Her gaze is fixed downward, so she doesn’t see me until it’s too late. She collides with my chest, dropping a small clutch purse as she stumbles backward, apologies already forming on her lips. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking…”
Her words trail off as she looks up at me, eyes widening slightly. I’m accustomed to a certain fearful reaction, but hers is different. Simple surprise crosses her expression, followed by embarrassment as her cheeks color in a way that seems genuine rather than strategic.
She doesn’t know who I am.
I bend to retrieve her purse, using the moment to study her more closely. There is no recognition in her eyes, and no flirtation in her posture. She's just a beautiful woman clearly out of her element, uncomfortable in the revealing dress that seems borrowed rather than owned.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, returning her purse.
“No, I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” She takes it carefully, avoiding touching my fingers as though contact might burn. “It’s crowded, and I’m not really...” She gestures vaguely at our surroundings, unable to articulate what’s obvious. She doesn’t belong here.
Something about her discomfort resonates unexpectedly. I spend my life in places where I don’t truly belong, playing roles necessitated by birth and circumstance rather than choice. “First time at Eclipse?” I ask, though the answer is obvious.
She nods, still wary but less tense. “It’s my roommate’s birthday,” she explains, the words coming faster now. “She dragged me here, then promptly disappeared with some guy in a blue blazer.”
I smile despite myself. Her frankness is refreshing after the exchanges with the Kazanovs. “Not a fan of nightclubs?”
“Is it that obvious?” She tugs self-consciously at her dress again.
“You look like you’re planning an escape route.” I study her openly now, intrigued by what I see. “Most people here are trying to be seen. You’re trying to be invisible.”
My observation clearly unsettles her. She shifts uncomfortably, preparing to retreat. Acting on impulse I rarely indulge, I gesture toward the bar. “Let me buy you a drink to apologize for standing in your path.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I walked into you.”
“Then let me buy you a drink because you look like you need one more than anyone else in this place.” I allow myself another smile, surprising even myself with the genuine amusement I feel.
She hesitates, clearly weighing stranger-danger warnings against some internal calculation I can’t decipher. Finally, she nods. “Okay. One drink.”
I guide her toward the bar, not touching her but aware of how people instinctively clear a path for me. Some faces register recognition, while others merely respond to the authority I project without conscious effort. The woman notices too, darting curious glances at those who step aside.
At the bar, I realize I should offer a name, but not my real one. That would end this conversation before it begins if she has any clue of who I am. “I’m Maxim,” I say, extending a hand.
“Willemina,” she says, her grip firm despite her evident nervousness. “Everyone calls me Wil.”
“Willemina,” I repeat, deliberately using her full name because it suits her, being elegant, somewhat old-fashioned, and with hidden strength in its syllables.
The bartender appears instantly, bypassing other waiting customers despite me not having been here before. The small perks of power are so ingrained I barely notice them anymore, though Willemina clearly does, raising her eyebrows slightly at the preferential treatment.
“What are you drinking?” I ask.
She glances at the elaborate cocktail menu with obvious overwhelm. “Just a gin and tonic, please.”
I signal the bartender. “Gin and tonic for the lady. Stolichnaya, neat, for me.”
Our drinks arrive promptly. I watch as she takes a careful sip, shoulders relaxing incrementally as the alcohol does its work.
“So, Willemina.” I lean against the bar, giving her my full attention in a way I rarely do with anyone outside business or family. “What do you do when you’re not being dragged to nightclubs by birthday roommates?”
“I’m a nurse. NICU at New York Presbyterian.”
The answer surprises me. I’d expected something conventional. Marketing, perhaps, or finance assistant. Not someone who works daily with life’s fragility. “Premature babies?” I clarify, genuinely interested.
She nods, animation entering her expression for the first time. “The smallest, sickest ones. It’s challenging but rewarding. Every day is different.” She stops abruptly, seeming embarrassed by her enthusiasm. “Sorry, not exactly exciting nightclub conversation.”
“On the contrary,” I say truthfully. “It’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard all night. You save lives while the rest of us...” I gesture at the excess surrounding us. “Waste them.”
The words emerge more honestly than intended, carrying weight I hadn’t meant to reveal. Willemina studies me with newfound curiosity, green eyes more perceptive than I initially gave her credit for.
“What about you?” she asks. “What do you do?”
There's the question I always dread in civilian conversations. I offer my standard cover story, developed ages ago for these types of situations. “I’m in the import business. Nothing as meaningful as your work.”
She seems about to press further when the music changes, the beat becoming more insistent. An opportunity to change subjects presents itself, and I take it. “Would you like to dance?” I ask, surprising myself as much as her. I haven’t properly danced in years. Not for pleasure, at least. Formal events require certain perfunctory movements with appropriate partners, but that’s performance, not enjoyment. This impulse is different, disconnected from strategy or obligation.
Willemina looks startled by the invitation, then thoughtful. Finally, she finishes her drink in a single swallow that hints at hidden depths beneath her outward propriety. “Why not?” she says with unexpected decisiveness. “Fair warning though. I’m terrible at it.”
My lips curve into another genuine smile, the second in minutes after weeks without one. “Then we’ll be terrible together.”
I lead the way to the dance floor, aware of Leonid watching from the perimeter, of Fedor observing from the VIP section with obvious curiosity, and of the countless invisible threads of obligation and danger that define my existence. For once, I ignore them all.
Tonight, all I want to do is to enjoy my time with this lovely woman.
It won’t last. Nothing real ever does in my world, but for these few minutes on a crowded dance floor, perhaps reality can be suspended. Tomorrow brings violence, strategy, and the endless game of power, but tonight, there is only music, movement, and green eyes that see a man rather than a monster.
I place my hands respectfully at Willemina’s waist as we begin to move together, feeling tension in her body gradually release as she grows more comfortable with my proximity. The scent of her perfume cuts through the club’s manufactured atmosphere. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel something suspiciously close to peace.