20. Luka
LUKA
I ask her what Roman said, and Nina hesitates.
It’s barely a second.
Most men would miss it because she recovers quickly. Her chin lifts, her face settles, and she gives me the kind of look she uses when she wants people to think she’s perfectly fine.
I know that look. I’ve seen it across conference tables, outside my office, in her apartment while she tried to lie about Misha, and now here, under chandelier light, with Roman Karpov’s shadow still too close to her.
“He asked me to dance,” she says.
I keep my voice calm. “That’s not what I asked.”
Her fingers tighten around her purse. “He wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“Alina.”
“Only Alina?”
Her eyes flick away from mine.
There it is again.
The room keeps moving around us. Music starts again, softer this time, and people drift toward the tables while waiters weave through them with trays of champagne.
Nobody around us knows that I’m standing in the middle of a charity gala considering whether Roman Karpov reached Nina because my own men failed to stop him or because one of them wanted him to.
I don’t know what or who to trust anymore.
Nina follows my gaze and then looks back at me, irritation growing in her face. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look around like you’re about to have someone dragged out.”
“I might.”
“Luka.”
“Roman Karpov put his hands on you in a room full of my security.”
“He danced with me.”
“He approached you when I was pulled away.”
“Yes, and I’m not a child who got lured into a van with candy.”
My jaw tightens. “This is not funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“What did he say?”
She exhales, annoyed. “I told you. He talked about Alina.”
“You’re lying.”
Her face changes instantly. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“I told you what matters.”
“That is not the same.”
Her eyes narrow. “Careful. I know you don’t trust people so easily, but I’m not the enemy here.”
I step closer before I remember where we are. She looks up at me, angry now, not frightened, and that makes it both better and worse.
“If Karpov spoke to you, everything matters,” I say.
“You don’t get to interrogate me in the middle of a gala because your rival asked me to dance.”
“He’s not simply my rival.”
“Then maybe you should’ve told me that before bringing me here.”
“I told you to stay near me.”
Her laugh is short and disbelieving. “You told me. You instructed me. You gave me orders wrapped as concern, and now you’re angry that I didn’t behave exactly how you wanted? Except you’re the one who walked away, leaving me unattended.”
I ignore the jab of guilt. “He’s dangerous.”
“So are you,” she scoffs.
A few people pass close enough that I lower my voice. “I have never lied to you about that.”
“No, you just leave out the parts that would help me understand what is happening.”
That stings because it is partly true, and I dislike truths that arrive from people I cannot dismiss.
“You know enough to understand you should not trust him,” I say.
“I don’t trust him.”
“Then why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not protecting him.”
“You’re protecting something.”
Her mouth closes.
I don’t like blind spots. I’ve built my life eliminating them.
I look toward the far side of the ballroom again.
Karpov is gone.
Nina’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’re doing it again.”
I look back at her.
She’s standing stiffly in that black dress, hair neat, mouth tight, eyes bright with temper.
The photographers are gone now, but people are still watching in the casual way society watches anything that might become a story.
I’m making this worse. I know that, but the knowledge does not settle my temper.
“Doing what?” I ask.
“Going cold.”
“I’m thinking.”
“No, you’re deciding who to punish.”
That’s uncomfortably accurate. I say nothing.
She shakes her head. “You know what? Fine. If you’re going to act like this, I’ll go home alone.”
“No.” It comes out too loud and several people look at us.
Nina’s face turns red. “Don’t ever raise your voice at me.”
“You’re not leaving alone.”
“I can call a cab.”
“No.”
“My own car?”
“No.”
“I can ask hotel security—”
“No.”
Her eyes flash. “I’m not your prisoner.”
The sentence snaps something in me back into place.
For a moment, all I see is her in the garage, concrete dust in her hair, her hand slick with my blood, her face pale while bullets hit the car door above us.
Then I see her in the elevator lobby tonight, shy in the dress, fingers cool in mine.
Then I see Roman Karpov’s hand at her waist on the dance floor.
I’ve been reacting to all of it like a man protecting territory.
That’s not what she needs from me.
I force myself to breathe.
My shoulder aches. The noise in the room presses against the inside of my skull.
Every man on my security detail looks questionable to me.
Every guest could be watching for Roman.
Every exit feels too far. I want to clear the building, put Nina in my car, lock down my own people, and start ripping apart the names one by one until somebody tells me who the fuck is responsible.
Instead, I look at her and lower my voice. “You are not my prisoner.”
Her expression does not soften, but she listens.
“I know you can leave if you choose,” I say.
“I also know Karpov approached you in a crowded room because he wanted me to see it. He wanted you unsettled, and he wanted me angry. I’m angry.
That’s true. But I’m not letting you get into a random car tonight because both of us are too proud to end an argument properly. ”
She folds her arms. “I didn’t say random car.”
“You said cab.”
“Yes, because I was mad.”
“I know.”
“And because you were being awful.”
“I know that too.”
That quiets her for a second.
I step back, giving her space because she asked for it earlier and because if I don’t start respecting that now, I’ll lose the right to ask for anything from her later.
“I will drop you off at home,” I say. “No argument. No interrogation in the car if you don’t want one. But you’re not leaving this venue alone.”
Her eyes search my face. “Is that an order?”
“No,” I say. “It’s me asking you not to make tonight easier for my enemies because you are angry at me.”
She looks away first, toward the dance floor where Roman had been, then toward the entrance where my men are spread out too late and too carefully.
“He said things,” she says, my words having reached her.
My whole body stills.
She looks back at me before I can ask. “I’m not ready to talk about all of it here.” She pauses. “And before you accuse me again, no, I’m not protecting him. I’m trying to understand whether he was lying, manipulating me, or telling me one useful thing wrapped in ten poisonous ones.”
“What useful thing?”
Her mouth presses together, then shakes her head. “Not here.”
I hate it, actually.
But I believe her more than I did one minute ago.
That doesn’t mean I trust the silence. Trust is not a thing I have in easy supply.
Nina asks me to trust her, and some primitive part of me resists because trusting her means accepting that I can’t control every danger around her.
It means she can keep something from me and still not be my enemy.
That’s a harder lesson than it should be.
“All right,” I say.
She blinks. “All right?”
“I’ll wait.”
“For what?”
“For you to tell me.”
Suspicion crosses her face. “You’re not going to threaten someone in the bathroom while I’m gone?”
“Not unless necessary.”
“Luka.”
“I’ll behave for the next fifteen minutes.”
“That is not long.”
“It’s a generous opening offer.”
Despite herself, her mouth moves upward into some sort of half-smile.
Before I can say anything more, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Pavel.
I don’t answer. I turn the screen away before Nina can see it, because old habits are hard to kill. She notices immediately, and the almost-smile disappears.
“Why?” she asks quietly.
“What?”
“That. You hide things automatically.”
I look at the phone in my hand.
She’s right. Again.
I turn the screen so she can see the name. “Pavel.”
Her gaze drops to it. “Security update?”
“Probably.”
“Take it.”
I study her. “You just accused me of hiding things.”
“And now I’m telling you to answer the call. Growth for both of us.”
I answer the phone and speak briefly to him before I turn to her. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”
I guide Nina toward the lobby with my hand at her back and my attention on every exit.
The gala continues behind us as if nothing has changed. The music is still playing, glasses are still being lifted, and people are still smiling with the hard patience of the wealthy. No one here wants to see danger unless it arrives in a form they can gossip about over breakfast.
Nina walks beside me without speaking, and that bothers me more than I want it to.
She’s angry. I know that. She has every right to be.
We’re almost at the entrance when two men step into our path.
Kirill Antonov and Oleg Taran.
Of fucking course.
Tonight has decided to become efficient with irritations.
Kirill is dressed better than the last time I saw him, but desperation still sits under his skin. Men like him can buy a tuxedo, a watch, a smile, but they never quite buy ease. Oleg stands beside him, broad and silent, flattened nose, ex-military posture, eyes moving too much.
Kirill smiles.
“Luka,” he says. “Leaving so soon?”
“Yes.”
His gaze moves to Nina, then back to me.
“Lovely evening,” Kirill says. “The foundation always does these things well.”
“You stopped me to discuss charity?”
His smile strains a little. “No. I only wanted to say there are no hard feelings.”
“No hard feelings,” I repeat.
“About the northern route.”
Nina shifts slightly beside me.
I keep my hand at her back. “There was nothing to feel.”
Kirill laughs softly, but it is forced. “You made your position clear. Fortunately, others are more open to cooperation.”
Oleg looks past me toward the entrance, pretending not to listen.
I study Kirill for one second longer than he expects. “Others.”
“Yes.”
“Good for you.”