Nocturne in Red
Dante
Vincent played his role to perfection.
Every time Orlov countered from the floor, Vincent instructed the telephone clerk to go higher. Calmly and relentlessly, he drove up the price. Twelve million became thirteen. Thirteen became fourteen.
The atmosphere inside the museum tightened with every new increment called across the room. Even the chattering socialites had gone silent by the time the bidding crossed fifteen million dollars.
Orlov’s expression never changed, but I noticed the moment his patience thinned. He exchanged a quiet word with Alexei, then lifted his paddle one final time.
“Fifteen point eight million,” the auctioneer announced smoothly. “Against you on the telephone, sir.”
Vincent didn’t hesitate.
The clerk beside him pressed a hand to her headset before nodding sharply toward the podium.
“Sixteen million dollars on the telephone.”
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Orlov went still.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the painting. Then finally, with visible reluctance, he gave a single shake of his head.
The underbidder had folded.
“Sold,” the auctioneer declared, bringing down the hammer. “To our telephone bidder for sixteen million dollars.”
Of course, Vincent was bidding with Marcelli money, but nobody, least of all Orlov, needed to know that. For all intents and purposes, Los Santos Rotos had just bought Nocturne in Red.
I even allowed Evelyn to place a few modest bids on my behalf, just to keep up appearances. People would assume that was why we were there, after all. But we bowed out early, pretending we weren’t that interested in paying big money.
How wrong they were.
Nocturne in Red ended up costing the Marcelli crime syndicate sixteen million dollars. Valentina would call it a worthy sacrifice if it meant wiping out the cartel once and for all. I tended to agree.
But that wasn’t the only price I was paying.
I watched as Evelyn glided around the museum, talking and laughing with collectors, gallery owners, curators, and socialites. People seemed to gravitate toward her, attracted by her beauty, her easy smile, and her knowledge of the industry.
This was her world, and she thrived in it. I could tell people respected her—not because they were afraid of her, the way they were of me, but because she had established herself as a credible player in the game.
A billionaire hedge fund manager who I vaguely knew offered her a glass of champagne. She accepted with a smile. Her copper hair caught the gallery lights as she laughed at something he said, the sound warm and low and entirely too fucking intimate for my liking.
She never laughed like that for me.
Nor was she ever likely to.
I brought pain, not laughter. That was my trademark.
He put a hand on her arm, and I bristled. A cold flash of jealousy sliced through me. I didn’t know who that man thought he was, but I didn’t like the way he was looking at Evelyn.
What annoyed me even more was that she didn’t appear to mind.
I abandoned the conversation around me without apology and crossed the floor toward her. People shifted aside as I moved through the crowd, but I barely noticed them. My attention was fixed entirely on the woman in burgundy.
Every curve glimmered in that fucking dress, leaving just enough to the imagination. But I knew what was under there. I knew how soft her skin felt beneath my hands. Knew the sounds she made when she lost control. Knew how she trembled when I buried myself inside her.
Nobody else in this room got to look at her and imagine those things. Because Evelyn Cruz was under my protection now. And God help anyone who forgot it.
“Oh, Dante. There you are. Richard was just telling me about his private collection,” Evelyn said as I approached. Her smile cooled when she saw my expression.
The hedge fund asshole extended a hand. “Richard Davenport.”
I ignored it completely.
“Evelyn,” I said, placing my hand intimately on her back. “We need to talk.”
Her eyes narrowed at my tone.
“I’m in the middle of a conversation,” she replied pointedly.
Davenport shifted awkwardly, sensing the sudden drop in temperature. Smart man.
“It can wait,” he offered diplomatically. “Miss Cruz, perhaps we can continue this discussion another time?”
“I don’t think so,” I snapped.
His gaze darted to me before he backed away into the crowd.
The moment he’d disappeared, Evelyn rounded on me.
“What the hell was that?” she hissed. Angry green flames danced in her eyes. “You were so rude.”
I took the champagne flute from her hand and set it on a passing waiter’s tray without even looking. “He was flirting with you.”
“And?”
“I didn’t like it.”
Her mouth fell open. “You cannot seriously be jealous right now.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “He touched you.”
“It was my arm, Dante, not my ass.”
The image hit me instantly and my jaw flexed. I felt myself stir.
Her eyes widened as she realized exactly where my mind had gone.
“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered. “You don’t get to act like a possessive caveman every time a man talks to me. You didn’t want me, remember? You have no say in who I talk to.”
A humorless smile tugged at my mouth. “I didn’t say I didn’t want you.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Well, you walked away.”
“Because I wanted you too fucking much.”
She stared at me. People drifted around us, oblivious to the tension crackling beneath our perfectly polished appearances. To anyone watching, we simply looked like an elegant couple having an intimate conversation.
Only Evelyn and I knew better.
“You’re wearing my family’s diamonds,” I murmured, reaching up to touch the necklace at her throat. “You came here tonight with me.” My fingers lingered briefly over her pulse. “When you’re with me, you don’t get to talk to other men.”
Her breath caught, but her chin still lifted defiantly. “You don’t own me.”
Jesus Christ.
That mouth. That fire.
I’d never admit how much I liked her refusal to submit. Every time she pushed back, it did something to me.
My gaze dropped to her lips before I could stop myself. They were soft and painted a delectable wine-red to match her dress. I wanted to kiss the lipstick off and taste the champagne still lingering on her tongue.
“Maybe not, but that’s not going to stop me letting every man in this room know that touching you is a dangerous fucking idea.”
Her eyes flashed. “What are you going to do, Dante? Murder anyone who comes near me?”
“If I have to.”
She shivered, and I knew she was thinking I might just do it too.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Orlov approaching, his expression dark.
“Play it cool,” I whispered, before abruptly turning away. Confusion flickered across her face, but the moment she noticed Orlov, her entire demeanor shifted. A warm smile curved her lips.
I had to admit, she was putting on a good show. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was genuinely happy to be talking to him.
I went to talk to a high-stakes poker player I recognized from one of my sister’s underground clubs.
Blake Gerard was a former US Marine and the current owner of one of the largest private security firms on the East Coast. He provided close security for New York’s wealthiest and—it was rumored—private armies for organizations conducting business in many of the world’s hotspots. A useful contact to have.
Across the room, Orlov lowered his head and muttered something to Evelyn. She touched his arm in a comforting gesture. I stiffened but kept a lid on it this time. I knew she was just playing a part. Or at least I hoped she fucking was.
Still, when Evelyn had said they were friends, I hadn’t realized just how close they were. I wondered how Malakov would feel if he knew what she was up to. Betrayal wasn’t something men like him forgave. She was playing him, and the Bratva by association.
A dangerous move—unless you were protected by the Marcellis.
Sooner or later, word about her and me would reach Malakov. He wouldn’t like it, but it wouldn’t ruin the plan. Evelyn Cruz had a spotless reputation. She played by the book.
The woman might be dating a monster, but she had no control over who bid on contemporary pieces of art.
Across the room, Alexei joined them. Evelyn laughed at something he said and my jaw tightened again. She seemed comfortable in the Malakov camp. Too comfortable.
That would change.
When I got her home tonight, I was going to show her exactly where her allegiances lay.
The suite was cool and dark when we got back.
Muted Manhattan light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the moment I hit the switch, the glass became black mirrors, reflecting the penthouse back at us. Far below, traffic hummed through the city, distant and irrelevant compared to the blood pounding through my veins.
We’d barely spoken during the drive home beyond a brief discussion about Orlov and the auction. The trap had been set. Now we waited to see whether Malakov took the bait.
Evelyn had sat as far away from me as possible in the back of the SUV, while I’d thought about all the ways I wanted to make her mine. She’d removed the corsage and thrown it on the seat between us.
It didn’t matter. I’d come to a decision tonight. I’d made it when I saw her laughing at something that little shithead Alexei had said. She’d thrown back her head and laughed in such an unguarded fashion that something had shifted inside me.
I wanted to be the only man to make her laugh like that.
The truth had hit me full in the face. Pushing her away hadn’t killed the wanting. It had just left the door wide open for someone else to walk through. Now I was going to ruin her for any other man who had his eye on her. Everyone else would cease to matter.
I was done fighting this obsession. I could use it. Use it for the benefit of my family and to satisfy my own yearning ache. I knew enough by now to know that once or twice wasn’t going to be enough. With Evelyn, it was never going to be enough.
I wanted to drown in the taste of her instead of bourbon. Wanted her soft sounds in my ear instead of the lonely ache of country songs drifting through an empty penthouse at three in the morning. Wanted her tangled in my sheets so thoroughly she forgot there’d ever been anywhere else to belong.
By the time we pulled into the underground garage, I was painfully hard.
The driver opened the door and I stepped out first, keeping my jacket slung casually over the front of my body before nodding toward Max and Kyle.
Kyle smiled at Evelyn as she climbed from the SUV.
Jesus Christ. She’d managed to charm my goddamn security detail too.
I let us into the suite. She looked like a copper-haired temptress in that blood-red dress, her skin luminous in the recessed lighting.
I was done waiting.
The moment the penthouse door shut behind us, I lost what little restraint I had left. Grabbing her by the waist, I turned her and pinned her against the door with enough force to make her gasp. Her glittering clutch slipped from her fingers onto the marble floor unnoticed.
“Dante—”
My hand slid up her throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold her still while I stared down at her. Her pupils were blown wide already, chest rising sharply beneath the sinful burgundy.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
I stepped between her thighs, trapping her there. “What I’ve been fantasizing about doing all fucking evening.”
Her lips parted to argue, but I never gave her the chance.
I kissed her. Hard.
Not controlled like before. Or desperate. This kiss was pure possession. Claiming her like I’d wanted to do all night.
She made a startled sound against my lips, before giving in and melting into me. Her fingers clutched the front of my shirt as I devoured her.
She was mine. The thought hammered through me with brutal clarity.
I kissed her until she was breathless, until the elegant gallery owner disappeared and all that remained was the woman who trembled for me. My tongue swept into her mouth, deepening the kiss until she was clinging to me for balance.
Every man from tonight flashed through my head. The hedge fund prick touching her arm. Alexei making her laugh. Orlov lowering his head close to hers while she smiled up at him.
A vicious wave of jealousy surged through me and I pressed her harder against the door, swallowing the soft moan that escaped her lips.
I was done sharing her attention. Done pretending this thing between us was temporary or manageable. By the time I finished with her tonight, I wanted every thought in that beautiful head consumed by me.
My touch. My mouth. My name.
“Dante,” she breathed when I finally broke the kiss long enough to trail my mouth along her jaw. “We shouldn’t…”
“Yes, we fucking should,” I growled.
“But—”
“I’m done fighting it,” I murmured, as my teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath her ear and her entire body arched against mine.
Her breathing turned uneven. “But it’s so… complicated.”
My hand slid down her back until I was cupping that gorgeous ass. “I’m going to take you to bed now, Ophelia.”
I kissed her again, slower this time, devastatingly deep.
Her resistance weakened, but she still broke away and whispered, “Dante…” like she was trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
I silenced her by dropping to my knees.
Her breath hitched as I pushed the silken fabric up her legs and pressed a slow kiss against the inside of her thigh.
“Tell me to stop,” I said darkly, looking up at her. “And I will.”
She stared down at me, flushed and breathing hard, one hand already tangled in my hair.
Exactly.
I rose before she could recover, hooked an arm beneath that curvy ass, and lifted her effortlessly against my chest. She let out a soft gasp, instinctively wrapping her legs around my waist, dress riding up as I carried her down the hallway.
This time, she didn’t protest at all.