15. Lexi
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LEXI
“You look beautiful tonight.”
Valentin stands before me, tall and striking in his sleek black suit and tie. I can’t recall seeing him in anything but a suit, but it hardly matters; it only heightens the intrigue surrounding him and his captivating dark eyes.
“So, where are you taking me?” I ask.
“Don’t you trust me?”
With a heavy sigh, I shake my head, “No!”
He chuckles as he opens the vehicle door, and I slip inside.
“Where to, then?” he asks with a grin.
“I’m craving steak. How about we check out that new spot, City Steakhouse?”
“Only if you promise to finish your meal this time.”
I give him a playful smile, and he closes the door.
As I glance back at the warehouse, I can’t help noticing three pairs of my friends’ eyes capturing a glimpse of the Brigadier, their expressions filled with finality. They’re behaving as if this might be the last time they will ever see me.
Valentin strides to the front and exchanges a few words with his men before slipping into the seat next to me. He turns around, casting a wary glance behind us. “Just making sure your friends aren’t hiding back there again.”
I chuckle, surprised. Is the Brigadier trying to be funny? “Do you not trust me?”
He gently brushes his thumb over my lips. “Sweetheart, I trust no one.”
He rests his hand over mine, his gaze penetrating through me, and I’m unexpectedly filled with happiness, something I’ve forgotten what it feels like.
About half an hour later, we arrive at City Steakhouse, and I can’t help but notice the formidably long line outside. The place is buzzing with energy, and I start to doubt we’ll get in.
The vehicle parks at the entrance, and the driver opens the door for me. I step out, carefully balancing my six-inch heels on the sidewalk.
Valentin quickly joins me, his hand gently resting on my lower back.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize it would be so busy,” I admit.
“No worries,” he replies with a grin, gently pushing me toward the door. “I’m sure they’ll fit us in somehow.”
“Good evening, Mr. Volkov,” the host greets us and guides us to a secluded corner table in the restaurant.
With a polite smile, he gestures for me to take a seat, and I stoop to sit. But Valentin clears his throat, causing the man to step back immediately. With a gentle push, Valentin slides my chair in, his rough fingers brushing my shoulder just before he settles into his own seat.
How could he have known we were coming here and that we would have a table?
“How did you manage to score a table so quickly?” I ask, glancing at the packed restaurant, with every table occupied and servers rushing about.
“There’s no restaurant in the city I can’t get into when I want to,” he responds, flipping open the wine menu and swiftly checking the selections. “Except, of course, for Italian,” he says with a playful laugh.
Ah, yes. I’m aware of the ongoing conflict between Mr. Bianchi and the Savins. I just killed some of his men while saving the Brigadier and Colonel. Perhaps I am at war with him, too, and don’t even realize it yet.
“Red or white?” Valentin asks, lifting his eyes to me.
My eyes scan the wine list. I am feeling out of my depth since growing up in a trailer park didn’t exactly prepare me for the rigors and etiquette of fine dining.
“Surprise me,” I say, hoping he won’t notice I have no idea what I’m looking at.
He places the order, and the waiter brings over a bottle of white wine with an exotic name.
He swirls the liquid in his glass, savoring the moment before taking a sip. Intrigued by his actions, I can’t help but take a sip myself.
“Do you like it?” he asks, his expression unreadable.
“It’s good,” I answer, though truthfully, I wouldn’t have known the difference.
“I agree,” he says. “Well, let’s say it’s okay. Not worth the $7,000 price tag.”
I nearly choke on my wine. “Excuse me, what?”
He meets my gaze with amusement, making me realize how ridiculous I must appear. For a Brigadier worth over several billion dollars, spending $7,000 on a bottle of wine is likely as casual as me picking up a six-pack of beer.
“I have something for you,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket. He produces a small box and slides it across the table.
“Is this a peace offering?” I question, my fingers wrapping around the box.
“I didn’t realize we were ever at war,” he replies with a smile.
The box is black with engraved writing written just for me: ‘Krasotka, you were mine from our first kiss. Love, Valentin.’
I run my fingers over the words: Love, Valentin. Before I can stop myself, a single tear slips down my cheek. Love. I never thought he would have written that.
“Are you okay?”
Sniffling, I am trying to hold back the flood of emotions and whisper, “It’s so beautiful.”
He reaches out, tucking my hair behind my ear with a tender touch. “That’s just the box. Open it.”
As I open the box, I’m greeted by something I wasn’t expecting. Inside lies a stunning collar shimmering with diamonds, but it’s more than just a piece of jewelry—it’s a symbol, accentuated with a diamond pendant in the shape of the letter V.
This collar is a symbol of my bond with him, the Brigadier. A symbol that I am his, and he is mine.
“I can give you the world, Krasotka, if you let me.”
“I love it,” I murmur, tears trickling down my cheeks, which I quickly brush away.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I …” But the words catch in my throat. “You hardly know me.”
It’s been a few weeks since I first approached the Brigadier in the elevator, even though I’d been watching him for months. Each sighting filled me with a thrill that’s hard to describe. How can someone like Valentin want to be with me, and why would he?
“That’s a pretty dress,” he comments, lifting his wine glass to his lips while his eyes linger on my chest, on my deep cleavage barely concealed by the fabric.
“Thank you,” I respond, instinctively crossing my arms over my breasts.
“Did you get that at a mall?”
I set my wine glass down on the table, taken aback by the question, but I reply, “I did.”
“I’ve never been to a mall. They sound quite busy?”
I laugh softly. “So, where do you shop for your clothes then?”
The glass pauses at his lips, hinting at his amusement at my question. “My suit guy comes to my house.”
Of course, someone like the Brigadier has a ‘personal suit guy.’
“How does he know what you want?”
“When I was younger, choosing a suit used to take me hours. Now, he shows up, and in five minutes I can have a whole new wardrobe.”
I take a moment to admire the black suit that fits him perfectly and wonder if I’d find anything else in his closet besides a hundred black suits.
“Do you know why that is?” he asks me.
I shake my head. But I’m guessing it’s because his tailor knows exactly what he likes.
“With age comes wisdom, and you realize there’s no need to wander through a mall. A single glance is all it takes for me to decide what I want to buy.”
He places his wine glass on the table and stands behind me, taking the collar from the box and fastening it tight around my neck. His fingers trail delicately along my collarbone, igniting a shiver that dances its way down my spine.
Leaning in closer, his breath caresses my ear as he softly whispers, “I own you now, Krasotka.”
Running my fingers along the V on my throat, I contemplate how enticing it would be to belong to him.
Just then, my cellphone buzzes, breaking my train of thought. I shake my head to clear it and look down at the screen. Robyn has sent a picture of the man I’m supposed to kill tonight.
“Everything good?” Valentin tilts his head, his curiosity piqued by my distraction.
“Yeah, sorry.” I look around the busy restaurant and find the man sitting two tables away from me.
The waiter steps in to take our order, catching me off guard. “Oh,” I exclaim, flipping through the menu in a rush.
“We’ll have two porterhouses,” Valentin orders decisively, not even glancing at me.
I smile and hand the menu to the waiter.
Valentin takes his time sipping his wine, the weight of his stare making me feel uncomfortable and seen at the same time.
He remains silent for what feels like an eternity, and I can’t let the moment linger any longer. “What’s on your mind?”
“That I want to know everything about you.”
“There’s really nothing to share,” I say, fiddling with the pendant, my gaze avoiding his.
“Oh, I think there’s a lot.”
“I assure you, Brigadier, there’s nothing.”
When our steaks arrive, I eagerly cut into mine, and it’s so fricken good—the best meal I’ve ever tasted. Each bite is pure bliss, and I savor it, determined not to let my hunger show. After all, grilled cheese and chicken quesadillas can’t hold a candle to this.
He leans across the table, his finger gently brushing my lips as he wipes away crumbs with his napkin. My cheeks flush with warmth, ignited by both the embarrassment and the spark of his touch. “So, tell me, Lexi, did you dream about being in organized crime when you were a kid?”
I chuckle, reflecting on my once innocent perspective. “Honestly, I can barely remember who I was back then.”
“Why did you feel as if you had to change who you were?” he asks.
I savor another bite of my steak, chewing slowly, allowing his question to linger in the air unanswered.
I clearly remember the day I got a new identity.
It was in that moment that I felt compelled to reinvent myself.
That day, I chose a path in organized crime, foolishly thinking that if I mirrored her qualities, she might finally love me back. I was so na?ve back then.
“What about you? Did you always want to be a Brigadier?”
“I was born into this world. I had no other choice.”
“If you could choose anything else, what would it be?”
“Well, you know my secret, Krasotka. I want a way to retire but not waste away on an island by myself.”
“Isn’t there a way to do both?”
“Retire while still being a Brigadier?” he scoffs. “If only that were possible.”
My phone buzzes again, and I glance down to find another message from Robyn.
I’m having such a good time with Valentin that I don’t want it to end. It’s been such a long time since I’ve gone on a real date, especially one that includes such delicious food and wine.
Again, I turn my attention to the man beside me, a government worker who has crossed someone powerful enough that they’re offering me $3 million to end his life.
The man glances over at me. I give him a polite smile. It’s easy for me to hide in plain view. No one suspects a young lady in a pretty pink dress to be their murderer.
The truth is, as much as I don’t want this night to end, my friends are relying on me—people I don’t want to disappoint. I know firsthand what it’s like for a family to turn their back on you.
I cough into my napkin, placing my hand on my chest. “Valentin, I’m not feeling well. Do you think we could leave?”
He chews one last bite of his steak. “Let’s get you home.”
I watch the man excuse himself and walk toward the restroom.
Then Valentin stands, pulling out my chair, and I give him a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll meet you at the car.”
With my purse in hand, I swiftly follow the man down the hallway.
Glancing up at the ceiling, my eyes are searching for cameras, while I’m listening for any sounds coming from behind the men’s room door. After confirming the coast is clear, I push the door open forcefully. A man stands in front of me, washing his hands.
With a laugh, I say, “Oh my, did I just walk into the men’s bathroom?”
Chuckling, he replies, “Yes, you did. It seems like you’ve had too much to drink.”
“You’re probably right,” I say, fumbling as my eyes dart around the stalls to check if we’re alone. It seems we are. “Since I’m here, I might as well use the toilet.” Stumbling slightly, I make my way to the last stall. “Can you help me open the door?”
The man strides over to me and swings open the stall door. I stand just behind him, drawing the gun from my purse, the silencer already secured in place, and I press it to the back of his head. A brief moment of hesitation flickers through my mind before pulling the trigger.
I shove his lifeless body into the stall just as the sound comes of someone else entering the restroom, its heavy door creaking open before slamming shut.
I hurry, squeezing myself into the stall with the bloody corpse, my hand covering my mouth to muffle any sounds of my panicked state.