Chapter 25
RANSOME
“I hate parties,” Baron mumbles as we stand by the bar.
The gala, as usual, is decked to the nines in every glittery, over the top decoration imaginable.
It’s a dick measuring contest between the two families, no expense spared, no gaudy statue too over the top.
I wish I was exaggerating, but there’s Dom Perignon flowing from a fountain, drop after drop splashing on the floor.
“I love it,” Mav grins. “Don’t you?”
He looks at me and I shake my head. Baron and I are both in black suits, fitted and sleek. Maverick is wearing a shimmery burgundy one because, well, he’s Maverick. All of us are donning masks. Like we don’t already do enough of that in our daily lives. “I’m with Baron on this one.”
“You two are too high-strung. Look around you. Dozens of glittery, done-up women. And we’re all masked, which adds a little mystery to it.”
“I can still tell who every single person is,” I say.
“You’re missing the point. Everyone is feeling allusive tonight. Daring. Sexy. I can’t wait to get my hands on some Chadovich ass. Just to mark my territory, if you feel me?” Maverick laughs and nudges us both before ordering shots.
I don’t care about getting laid. Not by anyone currently here, and certainly not by anyone with the name Chadovich.
I hate parties in general, but I have a reserved special hate for these parties.
Their purpose is to socialize the Rozanovs and the Chadovichs, something I don’t give a fuck about doing.
And this one in particular is set up in lieu of mine and Jenica’s forced marriage.
The whole thing is one giant peacock festival, and I’m over it.
The only reason I don’t walk out now is because I am expecting Amara.
Though she is almost an hour late.
She might not show up. The thought catches me by surprise. I’m used to getting what I want, especially from my assistant. The fact that she might be feeling cheeky enough to snub me, that she might want to teach me a lesson for yesterday’s treatment—it had not occurred to me. Not until now.
I should have gone there myself. Collected her in person instead of tasking Ivan. Except that it would have required a change of plans, and my plans are ironclad. They never change.
I don’t know if that will still be true after tonight. But I do know one thing for certain.
If she does not show up, she’ll regret it. I’ll make sure of that.
And then she’ll never defy me again.
“I don’t understand,” Maverick goes on as he hands us each a shot.
I toss mine without waiting for a cue. I’m going to need my edges dulled to get through this night.
“Why marrying Jenica fucking Chadovich is such a bummer for you. She’s hot, she’s rich, she knows the business.
And, if I had to guess, her pussy is as tight as her ass.
Which, by the way, looks banger in that dress. ”
“I’m not going to marry for convenience,” I repeat like a broken record.
“You are a Romeo,” Baron smiles as my parents approach us.
“There you are,” my dad starts in. “Why are you hiding, syn? Don’t tell me I spent a quarter mil on a party you’re going to sulk at.”
“You look very handsome, Ransome,” my mom says, straightening my tie that doesn’t need straightening.
“I’m not sulking,” I state. “I would just prefer not to be here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are the son of the Rozanov pakhan. Where else would you be?”
Anywhere but here.
“We were just telling our boy Ransome that he needs to get up in there,” Maverick says despite the fact that his voice makes my dad’s eyes bulge with annoyance. “Snag Jenica before someone else makes a move.”
“No one at this party would be stupid enough to make a move on Jenica,” my dad says to Maverick’s face.
“Oh. I didn’t mean me. I just meant—”
“You look lovely, Aunt Arina.” Baron can read the room, my family specifically, well enough to know Maverick needs to be shut up before my dad or I shut him up.
“Why, thank you, Baron. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Always.” He smiles. Baron is the heart of the family. He’s blood, but not in line to be the pakhan, so he is accepted but not expected to do much except be loyal. Which he is. Like a labrador.
I take a sip of my drink just as the Chadovichs approach in a line. They half-moon around us, making me square my shoulders and my dad smile tight and Maverick smirk, much the way Tristan is smirking. It’s a silent standoff already and everyone can feel it.
“Ransome, you look dashing,” Katya says, touching my arm briefly with a gloved hand. Her wedding ring, gold and gaudy, is on the outside, and she makes no effort not to show off the rock in the overhead lights.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I nod. Because, as much as I don’t want to, there is a game to be played, and unfortunately, as long as I am Bratva, I’m going to have to play it.
“So, Ransome. What are your plans after the wedding?” Dmitry starts in. “I understand you have a birthday coming up that will mean a power shift for the Rozanov family.”
“I plan to lead,” I say. I owe him nothing, not an explanation or a speech to buy his respect. I will be a pakhan in half a year’s time, no matter who respects me now. But they will then, Rozanov and Chadovich included.
“You are stepping into some weighted shoes,” he goes on. “Not to mention, I hear there is a new deal going on with the El Paso trade?”
My dad’s face does not change save for a slight shift in the tightness of his eyes.
We have always pulled our inventory from the El Paso/Juarez border.
That’s no secret. Though I doubt they know the details of this new deal, specifically the size of it.
And we aren’t about to give them that information.
“I will handle that as well,” I say.
Dmitry studies me, but my stance doesn’t waver. So he switches to a topic I hate even more.
“Aren’t you going to say hello to my daughter?”
At the same time Dmitry asks the question, my phone buzzes. It’s Ivan. He has Amara and they’re on their way.
“Ransome,” my dad snaps.
“Excuse me,” I say as I look up. “Business is pressing.”
“More pressing than the attention of your future wife?” Dmitry asks.
I force my gaze to her, but my phone buzzes again with a notification that the car is a mile out.
“Hello, Ransome,” Jenica says. I shove my phone in my pocket and take the hand she is holding out to me. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
I flash a small smile of circumstance. My eyes dart back to the door.
“Are you nervous?” my mom, who is no doubt trying to smooth things over, asks with a sugary tone.
“I don’t get nervous,” I say, my eyes still locked on the door in the back room. They should be approaching soon. I wonder if she is wearing the dress I sent over. She’d better be.
“You do seem to get bored, though,” Tristan says, and his voice is the only one ballsy enough to snag my attention. “What’s the matter, Ransome? Is my cousin not up to your standards?”
I realize I am still holding her hand, my thumb on her bare knuckles, and I should probably do something about it. But I also worry that letting go of her hand would free up my fist and it would land on Tristan’s face.
“He’s just being shy,” Jenica says with a smile, but I can hear the irritation in her voice. I would be irritated with me too.
My attention clocks at the back of the room. As the double doors of the gala open, heads turn like the progression of a wave, the closest people first, then the middle, then the back, until every eye is on the red dress and dark hair coming through the door.
It looks exactly as I imagined it.
Hugging every curve as if it was made for her. Flowing around her hips like a halo, the material light enough that it appears it is only brushing her caramel-kissed skin.
Her lips are cherry red, a contrast to the black sequined mask.
“Who is that?” Katya Chadovich asks. Whispers of the same question fill the room like a curious cloud.
As she moves through the room towards us, every eye moves with her.
And my breath stops dead in my chest.