19. Nina #3
“I’m annoyed.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“You were with Alina Karelin.”
“I know Alina.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No. It was an accusation.”
I hold his gaze. “Fine. Were you with her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She asked to meet.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your right.”
“Are you using her?”
His expression does not change. “That is a large question for a first dance.”
“This is not a dance. This is an interrogation with music.”
This time, he almost smiles. “I see why he likes you.”
My stomach tightens. “Don’t talk about him.”
“Luka?”
“I said don’t.”
Roman studies my face for a second, and something in his expression shifts, not soft exactly but less amused.
“All right,” he says. “Then ask what you really want to ask.”
I should ask about Alina. The pregnancy. The call on Luka’s phone that I still have not told him about. The garage attack. The man in the grey jacket. Any of the things that make sense.
Instead, one detail from my morning with Misha cuts through everything.
“I saw your name on my brother’s phone,” I say.
Roman’s steps don’t falter.
That tells me more than any flinch would have.
“Did you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
He looks past my shoulder for a moment, then back at me. “And you want to know why your brother is speaking to his enemy.”
“My brother’s not your friend.”
“No,” Roman says. “But he’s not my enemy.”
I scoff. “He’s Luka’s best friend.”
“Yes.”
“And you are Luka’s rival.”
“Yes.”
“So forgive me if I struggle with the idea that you and Misha are exchanging friendly updates.”
“They’re not friendly.”
“Then what are they?”
“Necessary.”
My chest tightens.
The song moves around us. Other couples turn, laugh, smile, lean close. From a distance, we must look like any two guests dancing under soft lights, but my pulse is racing so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Misha came to me for help,” Roman says.
I stare at him.
For a second, I forget to move, and he has to guide me through the next step.
“That is a lie,” I say.
“No.”
“My brother would never go to you.”
“He did.”
“Why?”
“He’s a desperate man,” he says in the maddeningly calm voice of his.
“My brother is not desperate.”
Roman’s expression says he disagrees and is polite enough not to say it.
That scares me more than I want to admit.
“What did he ask you for?” I demand.
“I won’t tell you that here.”
“Then why come to me at all?”
“Because your life is in danger.”
The room seems to slow. For one second, all I hear is the music and the rush of blood in my ears.
“My life,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“From Luka?”
“No,” he says. “at least I don’t think so.” I don’t like his answer, as if there’s a tiny sliver of possibility, he might hurt me.
“Then from who?”
“Not here.”
I laugh once, but it comes out wrong. “That’s very convenient.”
“It’s careful.”
“Because Luka’s watching?”
“No.”
The answer is immediate. That makes me colder.
I search his face. “Then who?”
Roman’s hand at my waist tightens just slightly, not enough to hurt, only enough to guide me through a turn so his mouth is closer to my ear.
“There are eyes everywhere tonight,” he says. “Some belong to Luka. Some don’t.”
I look over his shoulder. I can see Luka now.
He’s turned. He’s looking directly at us.
Even from across the room, I feel the force of his attention.
His face is calm, but I know better now.
Roman notices the change in me. “He sees us.”
I need to get away from him. I need to go to Luka. I need to call Misha. I need to do ten things at once and none of them can happen while this man is holding my hand.
“Why should I believe you?” I ask.
“You shouldn’t.”
That catches me off guard. “But you may ask your brother about me.”
“He won’t tell me.”
“He might, if you ask the right question.”
“And what question is that?”
People around us begin clapping politely. Roman steps back at the proper distance and bows his head just enough to make the whole thing look harmless.
Then, with a movement so smooth I almost miss it, he slips a small card into the side pocket of my purse.
I stiffen.
“Call when you are alone,” he says.
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“You’re very confident.”
“No,” he says. “I’m counting on you being curious and frightened. Those are better than confidence.”
I glare at him. He looks past me again.
Luka’s already walking toward us.
My hand tightens around my purse.
Roman steps back into the crowd, smile polite, posture relaxed, and within seconds he is no longer alone. Two men close around him casually, making it impossible for me to follow without looking insane.
I stand at the edge of the dance floor, heart pounding.
Luka reaches me a moment later.
His eyes are on my face first, then my hands, then the direction Roman walked.
“What did he say?” he asks.
His voice is calm. I look up at him.
The easiest thing would be to tell him everything.
The safest thing might be to tell him everything.
But Roman’s words are still in my head.
Ask Misha. I need to talk to my brother first.
“Nina,” he says.
I swallow. “He asked me to dance,” I say.
Luka’s eyes darken.
“That,” he says, “is not what I asked.”