Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Nikolai
Click, click.
Footsteps echoed.
I looked up just in time to see Vivienne descending the spiral staircase.
Instantly, some primal hunger shattered all the bullshit about territory, weapons, and the Council cluttering my brain.
She stood at the center of the spiral staircase, and that custom midnight blue velvet gown didn't just make her skin look like snow—it traced every goddamn curve of her hourglass figure with brutal precision.
The plunging neckline rose and fell with her breathing, that collision of wild and refined making her look like some regal queen who'd turn into a predator tearing apart prey by midnight.
My woman. The thought consumed me completely.
I narrowed my eyes, my gaze sliding from her flushed earlobes down, finally stopping at those long, sleek legs made even more devastating by her heels. My throat worked involuntarily.
She clearly caught my stare. A flash of discomfort crossed her face, but she recovered fast. She descended the steps, stopped three paces from me, then—like some properly trained aristocratic lady—gracefully lifted her skirt, bent her knees slightly, and executed a perfect curtsy.
"Well? How'd I do, boss?" She lifted her head, mouth quirking with challenge. "Guess Mrs. Gable's boot camp paid off?"
I stepped forward without answering directly. I took her gloved hand and pressed an outrageously chivalrous kiss to her knuckles.
"You're breathtaking tonight, sweetheart." I looked up at her reddening face, deliberately dropping my voice. "Though I'm more interested in what comes after—peeling that dress off you."
"You—" Vivienne's eyes went wide, face going crimson. "You're a goddamn beast in a tux!"
"Thanks for the compliment, Vivienne." I released her hand and turned toward the door, waving dismissively. "Glad you think so highly of your future husband."
Behind me came her furious muttering.
My smile widened.
The car pulled out of the estate gates onto the highway toward the city.
I sat in back, flipping through files on tonight's key players. Sasha drove up front, the cabin silent except for the engine's low purr.
Vivienne sat beside me, body rigid, hands folded properly in her lap.
She'd maintained that position since we got in the car. Hadn't said a word.
Something was off.
This woman usually seized every chance to snap at me, but now she was quiet as a kid heading to finals.
I closed the file and turned to her.
"Nervous?"
"No." Immediate response, but her voice was stiff.
"Liar," I said. "Your fingers are shaking."
She glanced down at her clenched hands, then quickly released them, leaning back with forced casualness.
"I'm just reviewing those damn family trees," she said. "The Marchetti boss is Carmine, he's got three sons—"
"Enough." I cut her off. "You've memorized that shit cold. I tested you last night. Perfect score."
"That was last night," she insisted. "What if I forget today?"
"Then forget," I said. "Tonight, you just stand beside me, smile, and nod occasionally. I'll handle everything else."
"But—"
"Vivienne." I turned, meeting her eyes directly. "What are you afraid of?"
She went quiet for several seconds, then took a deep breath.
"I'm thinking, what if I screw up?" she said quietly. "What if I say something wrong, use the wrong fork, what if I—"
"Those old bastards will just think you're charmingly naive," I said. "Besides, you won't screw up."
"How do you know?"
"Because yesterday in the sunroom you stomped on my foot six times and told Patrick with a straight face you were adjusting your steps," I said. "A woman who can act in front of me won't crack in front of those idiots."
She blinked, then laughed.
"Didn't realize the great Pakhan held grudges like a child."
"I remember perfectly," I said. "So tonight if you stomp on me again, I guarantee you'll pay for it after."
"You—" Her face flushed. "Can you stop being so—"
"So what?" I raised an eyebrow.
She glared at me, then gave up and turned to the window.
But I caught the smile tugging at her lips.
The car stopped at the Washington Hilton entrance.
I got out first, then circled around to open Vivienne's door, offering my hand.
She took it, stepping out gracefully in her heels.
The hotel entrance was already crowded with guests—mostly familiar faces from Washington's business and political circles. Seeing me, several immediately approached with obsequious smiles.
"Mr. Volkov, good evening."
"Been too long, Mr. Volkov."
I nodded in acknowledgment but didn't stop. Vivienne took my arm, spine straight, wearing an impeccable smile.
We passed through the revolving doors into the lobby.
The ballroom was on three. When the elevator doors opened, I murmured to her.
"Remember, tonight you just need to be yourself."
She looked up at me, surprise flashing in her eyes.
"Be myself?"
"Yeah," I said. "Those old fools have seen enough fake debutantes and calculating social climbers. Your honesty and directness will actually make you stand out."
"What if I accidentally curse someone out?" she asked.
"Then curse," I said. "I'll clean up the mess."
The elevator doors opened again.
The ballroom's double doors stood open, classical music and low conversation drifting out.
I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders.
"Ready, firecracker?"
"Ready, boss."
We walked into the ballroom together.
Every conversation paused for a heartbeat when we appeared.
Countless eyes turned toward us—or more precisely, toward Vivienne beside me.
Her arm tightened slightly, but her expression didn't waver. She lifted her chin, a perfectly calibrated smile on her lips, looking like she'd grown up in rooms like this.
I swept the room discreetly.
The Marchetti family sat by the windows—Carmine holding a glass, talking to someone nearby. Seeing me, he raised his glass in salute. I nodded, didn't approach.
Old Volkov and Derek hadn't arrived yet. Good.
"Mr. Volkov!" A familiar voice came from the right.
I turned to see Senator Thompson approaching with his perpetually beaming wife.
"Good evening, Senator." I extended my hand.
"Good evening, Nikolai." Thompson shook it, eyes settling on Vivienne. "And this lovely lady is?"
"My fiancée, Vivienne Cole."
Mrs. Thompson's eyes lit up immediately.
"My goodness, Mr. Volkov, I had no idea you were engaged!" She pressed her hand to her mouth dramatically. "Miss Cole, you're absolutely stunning! Is that Valentino?"
"Yes, ma'am." Vivienne smiled. "You have excellent taste."
"Your style is impeccable," Mrs. Thompson gushed. "When I saw this collection in New York last week, I fell in love, but my husband said the color was too bold—"
"Darling, we should make the rounds." Thompson interrupted, smiling apologetically at us. "Excuse us."
After they left, Vivienne murmured, "That woman talks a lot."
"Which is why her husband cuts her off," I said. "Come on, the opening dance is about to start."
The band was in position, conductor raising his baton.
I led Vivienne to the center of the dance floor.
The surrounding guests automatically parted, all eyes on us again.
"Nervous?" I asked quietly.
"Duh," she whispered back. "Everyone's staring."
"Let them stare," I said. "All they'll see is a perfect couple."
The music began.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and swept her into the dance.
The music was bold and sweeping, our bodies finding the rhythm immediately. The hellish training from the past two days showed—I barely had to guide her. When my body shifted right, her weight had already followed.
"Remember," I murmured in her ear, spinning her toward the edge of the floor, "by the windows, that's the Marchettis. Left side, third table is the Romanov family, right side—"
"Right side, second table is the Petrov family, back table is the Kovalskis." She picked up seamlessly. "I remember."
"Good." I looked at her approvingly.
"Looks like Mr. Pakhan underestimated me." She spun, blue eyes gleaming sharp in the light.
The words barely left her mouth when, during another sharp turn, that stiletto heel landed with surgical precision on my instep again.
Hard.
This woman was treating the opening dance like a battlefield.
I didn't react, just narrowed my eyes slightly. I tightened my grip on her slender waist, palm pressing firmly into the small of her back, pulling her hard against me.
Vivienne gasped softly, body going slack, that vicious stomp transforming into something breathtakingly intimate.
"That's interest on my evaluation." She leaned into me, cheeks flushed, voice still provocatively sweet. "This dance is exhausting. Consider it my reward."
"Indeed, prompt payment." My fingers dug into her waist, feeling her delicate skin tremble under my touch. "So this is my retaliation."
The music reached its finale. As the last note fell, I guided her through an elegant finish, then led her to the most visible spot on the floor.
The murmured conversations gradually ceased. Every eye in the room found us.
I took a champagne flute from a passing server's tray, my other arm naturally drawing Vivienne close, and surveyed the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's theme is charity, but it's also a... special evening for the Volkov family." I looked out at those politicians and merchants, voice steady and commanding. "I'm pleased to formally introduce everyone to—my fiancée, Vivienne Cole."
The words fell into a brief, suffocating silence.
I felt the scrutiny, the jealousy, the doubt in those stares, and the malice lurking in the shadows.
But then polite, hollow applause erupted. Wave after wave, like a tide.
I felt Vivienne's hand on my arm tighten momentarily. I looked down, about to check if the scene had rattled her, but found her not only unfazed—she was meeting those stares head-on with an infectiously confident smile.
She lifted her chin, meeting my eyes. Those blue eyes held no pretense, no impurity—only her own clear, razor-sharp fighting spirit.
She was fine. Better than I'd imagined.
I looked away and began handling the flood of well-wishers.
The networking phase began. I spent nearly ten minutes chatting with the chairman of the Washington Port Commission, dealt with two business contacts I needed to see tonight, while maintaining basic awareness of the room.
Vivienne got surrounded by several society wives.
I'd expected this. I didn't intervene, just discreetly kept part of my attention on her.
Those women were the fixed social operators in Washington's underworld circles, each representing their family's interests. Tonight, they were half here for charity, half here to figure out who the hell this Vivienne Cole was.
Mrs. Romanov struck first.
"Beautiful Miss Cole, may I ask which family you come from? It must be quite distinguished to have raised such an elegant woman." She held her champagne, smile gracious and sharp.
Vivienne didn't flinch. She didn't even look at me. She raised her glass and took a delicate sip.
"If you define 'family' as those boring circles that only discuss which foundation won't cake during afternoon tea, then no, I wasn't raised that way.
" She smiled sweetly, words laced with poison.
"But where I'm from, we call people who know how to think independently true ladies.
As for you, ma'am—your ring is gorgeous, but I notice Mr. Romanov doesn't seem fond of wearing jewelry himself. "
Mrs. Romanov's smile froze.
"You're... quite direct."
"Thank you." Vivienne raised her glass. "I've always found insincerity a waste of time."
Mrs. Romanov's expression became spectacular. She clutched her glass, managed a strained smile, then turned and left.
She'd done well. Too well, even.
I excused myself from the chairman and moved behind Vivienne, hand settling at the small of her back, pressing lightly but firmly through the fabric.
"Well done," I murmured.
"She started it," Vivienne said. "I was just defending myself."
"I know." I took a fresh champagne flute from a server, replacing her empty one. "Keep it up."
Several more people came to probe, but Vivienne deflected each one.
Her method was simple—direct, honest, occasionally barbed.
Those old bastards used to fake pleasantries clearly hadn't expected such a "troublemaker." Most chatted briefly then wisely retreated.
I stood beside her, watching her fend off would-be bullies like a hissing kitten, that indescribable feeling growing stronger inside me.
This woman was truly special.
She wasn't like those debutantes shackled by breeding and rules, wasn't like those social climbers who'd do anything for power.
She was herself.
Direct, fierce, sometimes naive as hell, but unexpectedly smart.
And she was so goddamn beautiful I couldn't look away.
"Nikolai."
A familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to see Derek strolling into view.
He had his supermodel on his arm, that false smile plastered on his face, radiating ill intent.
Vivienne's body tensed instantly.
I turned, casually blocking her from view, hand landing firmly on her shoulder as I lowered my voice.
"Don't worry. I've got this."
But what surprised me was that Vivienne didn't bristle with hostility like I'd expected.
She fell silent, seemed to be weighing something.
Then she looked up at me with a faint but genuine smile.
That smile was like morning sun breaking through clouds, and in that moment, it made me forget the revulsion Derek's waste-of-space presence usually triggered. Beneath that carefully made-up, breathtakingly beautiful face, her tense, hostile demeanor seemed to soften.
My heart slammed hard in my chest.
I suddenly realized—Vivienne Cole wasn't just my shield, wasn't just a piece I needed to control, wasn't even some tool of revenge I'd picked up.
She was mine.
That thought alone triggered something primal, overwhelmingly male, an unprecedented possessiveness.