Chapter 3
ALINA
Istare into Andrei Markov’s icy blue eyes. This whole situation is bordering on absurd. What are the chances that I would end up in the same elevator as a notorious criminal thirty seconds after I found my fiancé cheating on me?
I should tell him no. I should tell him that there’s no chance in hell that I’m going anywhere with him. Well, I would say that if I weren’t slightly terrified. That has to be why my heart is racing, right?
No, I have to be honest with myself. I’m not afraid of Andrei.
I’m intrigued by him, exhilarated by him, even.
I spent half the night wondering where my fiancé had disappeared to, imagining the worst. Finding the worst. It would serve him right to worry about where I went.
To find me having a drink with someone dangerous.
“Yes,” I say boldly, feeling immediately better. “Should we go back down to the bar?”
It would be amazing to have Kostya catch us there. For him to see me with a much older, much more intimidating man. He would hate how small Andrei makes him look by comparison. The thought gives me a sharp, vindictive pleasure that makes my lips curl into another smile.
“Actually,” he says, still holding the door. “My suite is on this floor, and I happen to know the bar is well stocked.”
His words should make me rethink my decision. Having a drink with Andrei Markov in his private suite is much different than having a drink with him in public. Anything could happen.
Yet, I don’t hesitate. For the first time in my life, I ignore my anxieties and just decide on pure instinct. I nod and step toward him, following him out of the elevator.
“Okay,” I say. “That works.”
My heart is pounding wildly as I follow him down the hallway. The carpet is lush underneath my heels, expensive and clean. By comparison, I feel like an untamed animal. I don’t belong up here for a million reasons, but most of all because I’m following a man who isn’t my fiancé to his suite.
“I was here for a meeting,” Andrei explains confidently. “It was just easier to book a suite than to battle midtown traffic for several hours.”
“Sure,” I say nonchalantly, like this is a normal thing that I do all the time.
We reach his room and he pulls out a key card, swiping it to unlock the door.
This feels like the point of no return. Under normal circumstances, I would never do anything this reckless.
If I could be even slightly rational right now, I would thank him for his time, turn right around, and never see him again.
I could avoid a huge mistake. This could be a story I tell my closest circle of friends and no one else. The time I almost went into Andrei Markov’s hotel suite.
Then I wonder what “almost” has ever gotten me. I keep picturing Kostya pressed up against that wall. I keep seeing the flush of his cheeks and the easy smile he gave me as he tried to pretend that he didn’t just blow up our future.
Screw almost.
Andrei holds the door open for me and I walk inside like I own the place. Crossing the threshold feels like stepping into a new version of myself. One who doesn’t settle for less than she deserves. One who isn’t afraid.
Andrei moves past me and sets his jacket aside before crossing to the bar. The motion is unhurried and controlled. He seems to do nothing without purpose, and I feel acutely aware of every small movement I make by comparison.
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
“Do you have whiskey?” I ask.
He smiles without comment and opens up the bar, pulling out a clear bottle of brown liquid.
He pulls two glasses and pours the whiskey easily before handing one of the tumblers to me.
His fingers brush mine briefly, and the contact sends a flicker of heat up my arm.
I wrap my hand around the glass quickly, grounding myself in the cool weight of it.
I take a long sip and immediately cough, the burn catching me off guard.
“Careful,” he says, watching me closely. “Whiskey is meant to be enjoyed slowly.”
“I don’t have time for slow tonight,” I mutter.
I slip off my shoes and set them neatly by the couch before sitting down.
I tuck one leg beneath me and let the other dangle, my posture relaxed in a way that surprises even me.
I feel exposed in my short dress, but I also feel sort of powerful, like I’m choosing to be seen rather than being put on display.
“So,” I say, lifting my glass slightly. I know who you are. I know all about you.”
He arches an eyebrow slightly.
“What is it you think you know?” he asks with a curious smirk. “I would love to hear how the newspapers have tried to capture me.”
“I know you’re a Bratva boss,” I say. “I know that you’ve been on trial several times, for a variety of crimes.”
“All exaggerated,” he repeats his comment from the elevator.
Careful, I think to myself. He’s a lion, not a kitten.
“Still, people would probably gasp if I told them I went to your hotel suite.”
“What you do and don’t tell people is entirely your business,” he says, tipping his glass at me. “Though it sounds like your fiancé deserves the shock of it.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” I laugh softly. “He thinks he’s such a big man of the world. He’s always off doing business and making deals. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself in the presence of a real power player.”
“Oh, is that what I am?’ Andrei asks, quirking his eyebrow again. “I should hire you to do my public relations.”
“To a man like Kostya, you’re a king. And he’s nothing but a child playing dress-up.”
“Hear, hear,” Andrei toasts. “What else did you hate about your fiancé? I’ve been told it’s therapeutic to air your grievances.”
I giggle and realize the whiskey is already starting to go to my head. I look up at Andrei and seem to forget about his reputation. He doesn’t look so scary in this room. He’s actually an incredibly attractive man.
His dark hair is flecked with just the tiniest bits of gray. It makes him look distinguished and worldly. His suit is impressively tailored, perfectly cut for his body. It’s tight in a way that shows off his assets without being indecent. Of course, the more I drink, the more indecent it seems.
“Oh,” I pout. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I’d much rather talk about you.”
“You apparently know all about me,” he says. “What more is there to say?”
“Do you kill people?” I ask, feeling ridiculously bold.
“That’s privileged information.” He smirks, not looking the least bit offended by my line of questioning. “Do you kill people, Alina? I know nothing about what you do.”
“I only fantasize about it.” I sigh. “Actually, just about killing one man. But we aren’t talking about him.”
“Right,” he affirms. “We’re talking about you, and what you do for work.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to flirt with me or just making friendly conversation. The whiskey is making everything a little blurred at the edges. My heart is beating wildly.
“I’m an international spy,” I lie. “I’m very good at blending into the background and apprehending my target.”
“Before this conversation continues, you have to be honest with me,” he says seriously. “Are you wearing a wire?”
I giggle again and set down my whiskey on the nearby table. I stand out and stretch my arms out to my sides, doing a little twirl.
“You’re more than welcome to search me,” I say in a husky voice.
What is happening to me? I’ve never even been this bold with Kostya and we were planning to get married.
“That’s okay,” Andrei says coolly. “I believe you.”
I feel disappointed somehow. I sit back down, and he finally comes to sit next to me. That, at least, makes me feel better. He hands me my whiskey back and we both take a sip, locking eyes with one another.
“So, Alina,” he starts. “How long have you been an international spy?”
I laugh so hard I nearly spit out my drink. “About five years,” I say. “Which is, ironically, also as long as I’ve been a caterer.”
“I hear there’s a lot of overlap in the two fields,” he quips jokingly, never breaking eye contact. “Which do you prefer? Catering or being an international woman of mystery?”
“Obviously the latter.” I laugh. “But catering pays the bills for now. It was nice to have someone helping with that, but that’s over now, obviously. So, I guess I’ll be focusing more on catering for a while.”
“I’m sure it hurts now,” he answers mildly. “In the future, though, you’ll be glad for it. Any man who can’t even stay faithful for six months would make a shit husband.”
I laugh and look away, finding his gaze a little too intense.
Am I imagining the look of desire in his eyes? We’re so close, it would be impossibly easy to reach out to him and pull him into a kiss. He’d probably make me forget my own name. I wonder what else he could do with those lips.
I lean in to him, ready to find out, when he swiftly stands and goes to grab his phone.
“I should call you a car,” he says suddenly. “It’s late and I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
I feel the sharp sting of rejection. It obviously pales into comparison to what I felt seeing Kostya with that woman, but it hurts nonetheless.
“Of course,” I say, standing and heading toward the door.
“Hold on a moment,” he says, and the hope flares to life again. “I’ll get one of my security guards to walk you out.”
Just like that, it’s put back out.