8. Luna
Luna
He knows.
He knows, I know, he knows.
But damn, he looks even better up close.
And fuckkkkk, why does he smell so good?
I can’t quite put my finger on the scent, but it’s mouthwatering. It’s like a mix of something dark and mysterious, and yet strangely... comforting?
Whatever it is, it wraps around me like a blanket, pulls me in, and I’m trying my hardest to focus on anything else.
But no, I’m failing.
Miserably.
He doesn’t just look like he belongs in a gothic painting; he is the living embodiment of one.
Or maybe something darker, straight out of Castlevania. A modern Dracula, a shadowed king whose very presence demanded your undivided attention.
And that whole air of confidence? He knows exactly what he’s doing, and everyone in the room waits for him to make the next move.
How do I know this? Because I’m standing here, completely trapped by it. He’s standing two feet away, and I can’t seem to look anywhere but him.
I swear, I’d be drooling if I didn’t have better control over myself.
Okay, Luna. Get a grip.
He’s just a man.
He’s a tall, gorgeous man that you wouldn’t mind climbing right now to see if he’s also tall in other places.
WTF.
Just as I mentally slap myself out of my Vladimir-induced spiral, two men step up beside him—his right-hand shadows, if my intel’s accurate.
Dimitri and Konstantin.
Or, as I like to call them, Tweedledummer and Tweedledum.
Dimitri speaks first, wearing a grin like it’s his signature. He scans the room with the confidence of someone who’s never met a mirror he didn’t admire before locking onto Raven with a flicker of interest in his eyes.
“And you are?” he asks, voice smooth as sin and dipped in charm. The kind of tone that says he’s already decided you’re interesting—now he’s just waiting for you to catch up.
Raven doesn’t even blink. “Not interested,” she replies flatly, sipping her drink like he’s background noise.
Dimitri chuckles, completely unbothered. “Didn’t ask if you were,” he says. “Just your name.”
“Raven.” Still bored. Still unbothered.
He repeats it like he’s testing the sound. “Raven… Fitting. I’m more interesting than the stiff suits around here.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, he thinks that. Dimitri’s the type who flirts like it’s a contact sport. Raven, however, doesn’t even flinch.
“Save it,” she mutters. “I don’t do distractions.”
For half a second, Dimitri’s smile flickers. But he recovers quickly, tossing out some comment about the wine, already trying to regain lost footing. Raven? Already tuned out, sipping her drink with the poise of a queen who’s too busy ruling to deal with jesters.
Then there’s Konstantin. The opposite of talkative—quiet, hulking, and currently staring at Amani like she’s an eclipse he wasn’t prepared for.
The man looks wrecked. It’s as if someone just introduced him to feelings for the first time, and he’s unsure whether to run or kneel.
Amani clocks it instantly. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. She just takes a slow sip of her drink, a smirk tugging at her lips like she knows exactly what chaos she’s about to unleash.
Poor guy. He has no idea what’s coming.
But all of it—Raven’s brush-off, Dimitri’s peacocking, Konstantin’s slow descent into love-struck silence—fades into the background.
Because Vladimir is still here.
And he’s everything.
He’s not doing anything; still, it feels like he’s unraveling me.
And I hate that I don’t hate it.
Before I get lost in my thoughts, Isabella steps forward, interrupting whatever internal panic I’m experiencing.
"Vlad,” Isabella starts, her tone respectful but firm, "I’m sure you’ve heard of the Order’s efforts. Your father, Ivan, has been a great help to us over the years."
Isabella pauses, and there’s a softness in her voice now. “I haven’t contacted you yet, but I’d love to discuss it further.”
I see Vladimir’s jaw tighten slightly, but he doesn’t break eye contact with me, not even when she’s speaking to him.
“I’m counting on it,” he says, and his voice is low, almost... intimate. But it’s not the words that make my heart race. It’s the way he says them like there’s a hidden meaning behind the words.
And then... he finally tears his gaze away, but not before giving me one last lingering look that makes my heart skip a beat.
What the hell is happening to me?
I should take a champagne bottle, smash it on his head, and make a run for it before I sign over my firstborn baby to this man.
My mind starts running through all kinds of inappropriate scenarios—most of them involving him doing very unspeakable things that make my body heat up.
“Luna?” Amani’s voice breaks through my mental chaos. I blink, realizing I’ve probably been staring at him like a desperate woman.
Get it together, Luna.
“Yeah?” I try to sound casual, even though I’m anything but. I can’t even pretend to be unaffected anymore.
“You good?” Amani raises an eyebrow, clearly noticing my little moment of weakness.
“Fine,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound convincing.
Damn it. Damn him.
I’ve assassinated men and erased entire operations with precision, but standing here, in this room, feeling Vladimir’s eyes on me?
That’s a different kind of challenge.
Isabella nods, then turns to Vladimir, whose presence lingers in the space like a storm that refuses to pass.
“I trust we’ll see more of you in the future?” Isabella asks, her tone neutral, though her eyes are sharp.
Vladimir smirks, his gaze flicking between the three of us before landing back on Isabella. “I’ll contact you when I’m ready to talk business,” Then, his attention drifts to me one last time, the weight of it making my skin prickle. “You certainly know how to keep interesting company.”
I don’t react, but my fingers twitch at my sides.
He steps forward, lifting my hand without hesitation.
The breath stalls in my throat.
His fingers are warm and strong, and his touch is featherlight as he raises my hand to his lips. His lips brush against my knuckles, a slow, deliberate act of control. “Until next time, Miss Imala,” he murmurs, accented voice deep, amused, and entirely too knowing.
Then, with one last smirk, he releases my hand and nods to Isabella. “Ladies,” he says smoothly, “It’s been a pleasure.”
And then he’s gone, his men following behind him.
Only when they leave do I finally exhale.
Raven whistles low. “What the hell was that?”
Amani grins. “That, my dear, was the Russian mafia equivalent of foreplay.”
I glare at them both, but my fingers still tingle where his lips touched.
Damn it.
This is going to be a problem.
Isabella clears her throat, snapping me back to reality. “Well, ladies,” she says, her tone sharp. “I trust we’ve all gathered something useful tonight.” Her gaze flickers to each of us—Amani, Raven, and me. “What have we learned?”
Amani is the first to speak, her voice light but edged with steel.
“The mayor’s office is linked to the trafficking ring.
Several council members are involved, and there’s talk of a new shipment coming in next week.
They’re planning to use one of the luxury cruise lines to bring them in—hidden under the guise of a pleasure cruise. ”
Raven adjusts her glasses. “The network’s reach is extensive. The girls are being funneled through legitimate businesses to cover their tracks. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to pinpoint exactly where they’re keeping them.”
Isabella nods, satisfied, then turns to me. “Luna?”
I take a slow breath, my mind still churning. The moment Vladimir left, the air shifted. It’s easier to think. Easier to breathe. And now, I don’t hesitate.
“Eric Goldstein,” I say, my voice firm. “The oligarch from the UK assigned to Angel. He’s one of the main players bringing in shipments from overseas.”
Isabella’s posture stiffens. Her fingers curl slightly into a fist, her expression unreadable.
“My sister tried to pin something on him for years,” I murmur. “She could never get anything to stick. Every time she got close, he slipped away.”
Raven and Amani exchange a glance.
Isabella tilts her head. “And you’re sure?”
I meet her gaze. “I know I am.”
The room stills, the weight of my words settling over us all.
Isabella takes a slow breath, then nods. “Then let’s find something that will stick. Happy hunting, ladies.”