13. Victor
VICTOR
Oh Danika, where are you going?
I watch her leave the bar and slip through the crowd, her red dress cutting through the sea of black tuxedos. She doesn't glance back.
But I know better.
I know the difference between someone leaving and someone running.
I down my whiskey I'd just grabbed, place the glass on a passing tray, and follow, weaving through clusters of people.
I cut through the kitchen, and a server carrying champagne flutes nearly collides with me as I round the corner into a service hallway. I sidestep him, muttering an apology, but he doesn't acknowledge it and just keeps going.
The corridor is bright with plain white walls, scuffed at the baseboards from years of trolley wheels and careless staff. The air is cooler here, away from all the people at the gala.
Ahead, a stairwell door clicks shut, and I know who's just gone through it.
I continue on, making my way up to the second floor. When I get to the top, I crack the door open just enough to peer through. Danika's red dress flashes at the end of the floor, moving fast, and she disappears through another door at the far end.
I slip out into the hallway, letting the stairwell door close on its own.
As I make my way toward the other end of the floor, all I can smell is her lingering perfume.
I'd know she'd been here even if I hadn't seen her.
I continue as my mind races. She's heading toward the penthouse. She has to be.
Something isn't adding up.
Suddenly, behind me, the stairwell door I just came through slams shut.
The sound is loud through the quiet hallway.
Oops.
I move quickly now, approaching the door and gripping the handle, turning it slowly. I remember how she greeted me at Bogdan's, pressed against the wall behind the door.
That isn't happening again.
Worst case, I'll grab at air.
I shove the door open with my foot and spring forward, reaching behind it in one smooth motion.
My hand catches a thin, strong wrist.
Danika gasps, her body twisting as I yank her forward, and I quickly see it.
"Jesus, woman. What's with you and knives?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks, trying to jerk her wrist free.
I twist it just enough to force her fingers open. The blade clatters to the concrete floor, and I step into her, pressing her back against the wall. My chest against hers. My hand pinning her wrist above her head.
"Now this is familiar," I say, smiling down at her.
Her eyes flash. "Get off me."
"Relax. I'm just making sure you don't stab me again."
She smiles back, sharp and dangerous, and then ducks.
The movement is lightning-fast. She spins around me, her free hand shoving my shoulder, and suddenly I'm the one against the wall. She's on the opposite side of the stairwell now, breathing hard, her dress slightly askew.
"Ohh," I say, turning to face her and smoothing out my jacket. "I like that move. Can you show me that again?"
"Give me my knife back," she says, nodding toward the ground. "And I'll show you anything you want."
I glance down at my feet, then bend to pick up the blade.
“Anything?” I ask.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes.
"I felt this on you, you know," I say, twirling the handle between my fingers. "Inside left thigh."
She doesn't respond. Just glances up at the third-floor door above us, her jaw tight.
"Waiting for your friends to join?" I ask, though I already know she's just as worried about anyone coming through that door as I am.
"You wouldn't want that," she says, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
I smile. "You know, something's bothering me," I say and lean against the wall, relaxing my posture. "Why are you here?"
"What do you mean? It's a Volkov event. Why wouldn't I be?"
"No," I say, pointing around the stairwell with the tip of her knife. "I mean here."
She doesn't answer, but her eyes narrow, and I can tell she's thinking.
"Because I'm good at reading people, Danika," I continue.
"Are you now?" she says, crossing her arms. The movement pushes her breasts together, the neckline of her dress shifting lower.
Focus, Victor.
"Sure," I say. "Like how you enjoyed our little dance. I could feel it on your skin."
She gives me a dismissive laugh. "Maybe it was all in your head. If I recall correctly, I remember feeling a little something…" She stops and points down toward my crotch. "Down there back in Romania."
I smile and nod. "It's not little."
"Oh, poor Victor. Did I hurt your pride? Wound your ego?"
I laugh. "You're good. If you keep it up, maybe I'll prove it to you."
She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "I'd love to stay and continue this little chat with you, but I need to go. So give me back my knife and stop following me."
I sigh. "You know I can't do that."
"Fine." She uncrosses her arms, her hands dropping to her sides. "Fuck it. I don't need it. You can keep it. Just stay out of my way. I'm serious."
She walks past me, heading for the stairs to the third floor.
"That tablet," I say.
She stops. Doesn't turn around.
"I know you're here for it."
Finally, she turns, and I step forward. "Those blue eyes of yours gave it away."
"You need to leave, now, Victor. Forget whatever it is you're doing here or after and go."
She turns and starts up the stairs.
"You won't get past the security system," I say. "It's too intricate. Too advanced. I saw it."
"What do you mean you saw it?"
I climb a few steps toward her. "Look. I don't know why you're here. Who you're really working for, clearly not the Bratva Don. But if we both want the tablet," I smile, "then we're going to have to work together."
"Excuse me?" she asks, whipping around.
"I'm serious. If we don't, neither of us will get it. I was going to take it off him, but I've been thinking. You're right. There's just too much security. Which, I can tell, you're trying to avoid too."
She crosses her arms, and I hate that I notice her breasts shift again.
I force my gaze back up to her face, and I know she's going to say yes because she doesn't have a choice. And of course I'm going to have to double-cross her, because that's what she's planning. And with all that, here I am trying not to stare at her chest.
"You'll just fuck me over," she says.
I walk up to her and extend her knife, handle first. "Danika, I would never do that. We'll have to trust each other now, or we're both as good as dead."
She hesitates, then takes the blade. "Fine."
She turns and starts up the stairs.
"Uhh, where are you going?" I ask.
"The third floor. The stairs. I thought you said you've seen the security system."
"I have," I say, turning back toward the second-floor door. "And you're not going that way. Follow me."
I open the door and glance back. She's still standing in the middle of the stairwell, halfway up.
"You coming?" I ask, smiling.
She huffs, then starts walking back down.
"This is ridiculous," Danika says as I lead her back through the service hallway toward the kitchen.
"Relax."
"I had a plan, Victor. A good plan."
"Your plan was to walk into a guarded stairwell with a ceramic blade and hope for the best."
"It would have worked."
"Maybe," I say, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors. The smell of roasted meat and garlic hits me immediately. "But it also might have gotten you shot."
We weave through the chaos, chefs shouting, pans clattering, steam billowing from industrial stoves. No one looks at us. No one cares.
I lead her to the back corner, where the dishwashing station sits half-hidden behind a rack of dirty plates. And there, tucked against the wall, is the dumbwaiter.
"There," I say, pointing.
Danika stares at it. "Uhh, what the hell is that?"
"It's how you're going to get up to the penthouse floor."
"What!?" she says, her voice sharp. "Are you crazy?"
"Don't worry. I gave the dishwasher money earlier this morning when I did my final walkthrough. He's the only one who comes back here. They aren't using it tonight."
"Well, I don't care about any of that. I am not crawling in that thing."
"Why? You don't think you'll fit?"
"No, it has nothing to do with that. I don't need to. I can just go up the stairs like I had planned before you interrupted me."
"You could," I say, leaning over and opening the dumbwaiter door.
The metal creaks. "But you don't have a gun, and I do.
And so do those men back there." I pat the inside of the small compartment.
"You get in here. I'll send it up. I'll then go deal with the men, knowing you're safe in here, and make my way to the penthouse floor.
Wait until I open it, and I'll help you out. "
"Absolutely not."
"Danika. This has to be the way. Get in there, and I will get you. I swear."
She rolls her eyes. "That doesn't mean shit to me."
"Maybe," I say. "But I can't do this alone. I need you. So," I pat the inside of the dumbwaiter again. "In you go."
She hesitates. Her jaw tightens, her hands balling into fists at her sides.
Then, reluctantly, she steps forward.
I help her in, steadying her elbow as she crouches low and tucks her legs into the small space. The red dress bunches around her thighs.
"Hands off my ass," she snaps as my palm brushes the curve of her hip.
"Sorry, just trying to help,” I say and suppress a smirk.
"Yeah, yeah," she says and adjusts herself. "You better meet me at the top, or I'll find you."
"Now I'm tempted not to open it," I say, winking.
"I'm serious."
"Okay, wow. Where did the easygoing Danika go?"
"She's not here right now because she's stuffed in a dumbwaiter."
I nod. "That's fair. Now, watch your hands."
I shut the door with a metallic clang and press the penthouse button. The pulley system groans to life, and the dumbwaiter begins its slow ascent.
Once it starts moving, I turn and run.