Chapter 6 #2
"Not a guess." She accepts her vodka from the bartender.
"You have indent marks on your right wrist from where it rested on the edge of your keyboard.
Your eyes are strained in the specific way that comes from staring at monitors in low light.
And you have the distinct tension in your shoulders that I recognize from my own marathon coding sessions. "
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Observant."
"Professional necessity." She sips her vodka. "BitVenom."
The name—my digital alias—slides from her lips like a bullet being chambered. My muscles tense involuntarily. How the fuck did she know?
"NyxBinary," I counter, watching for her reaction.
Nothing. Not even a blink. Just the slightest curving of her perfect mouth.
"So," she says, "shall we discuss why you're using your own encryption signature to siphon money from our joint accounts, or would you prefer to wait until after we cut the engagement cake?"
My blood runs cold, but I keep my expression neutral. "Bold accusation for someone I just met."
"Is it an accusation if it's demonstrably true?" She turns entirely toward me now, close enough that I can feel the heat of her body. "The encryption markers are yours. Quite distinctive, actually. Almost like you wanted to be caught."
"Or," I lean closer, lowering my voice, "like someone wanted me to appear guilty."
A flicker of genuine interest crosses her face. "Are you suggesting someone is framing you?"
"I'm suggesting we shouldn't have this conversation in a room full of people who would kill us both if they knew what we were really talking about."
She studies me for a long moment, then nods almost imperceptibly. "Follow me. Five minutes."
Without waiting for my response, she glides away, stopping to chat with a silver-haired man I recognize as a prominent hedge fund manager. I watch her work—the precise tilt of her head, the calculated touch on the man's arm, the smile that never quite reaches her eyes.
Kira Petrov is a masterful performer. Every gesture, every word, every expression is choreographed for maximum effect. Just like her code—elegant, efficient, deadly.
I'm more intrigued than I want to be.
After finishing my second Scotch, I make my way through the crowd, exchanging brief pleasantries with people Vito would want me to acknowledge. All the while, I track Kira's movements from the corner of my eye.
She disappears through a side door, and five minutes later, I follow.
The corridor is dimly lit and quiet after the bright chatter of the ballroom. Kira stands at the far end, her red dress a slash of color against the cream walls.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she says as I approach, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space.
"Says the woman who hacked the Nexus Tech mainframe for fun."
"Not for fun," she corrects. "For profit. Which I then donated." She says as if she were telling me the weather.
"Noble thief."
"Pragmatic allocator of resources." She steps closer, and that scent envelops me again—blackberry and vanilla and danger. "Now, about our current situation.”
“Hold on.” She orders. I’m confused until she holds her cell phone and turns on white noise that fills the room around us as if ensuring that no one can hear our conversation. “Someone is using your encryption signatures to steal from both our families. If it's not you, who is it?"
"I have theories," I say carefully. "None of which I'm sharing until I know whose side you're on."
"I'm on my side. As I suspect you are on yours." She says simply.
"And if those sides happen to align?"
Her eyes narrow slightly. "That would depend on what your side wants."
I take a calculated risk. "My side wants out."
The words hang between us, a confession that could get me killed if shared with the wrong person. But I need to know if the message I left for her in the code was understood—if she's a potential ally or just another Bratva loyalist.
For a moment, she says nothing. Then, "Out of what, exactly?"
"Don't play dumb, Petrov. It doesn't suit you." I step closer, close enough to see the slight dilation of her pupils. "You know exactly what I mean. The question is whether you want the same thing."
Her expression gives nothing away, but something shifts in her posture—a barely perceptible relaxation that tells me I've hit my mark.
"And if I did?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper. "What then?"
Before I can answer, the door to the ballroom opens, spilling light and noise into the corridor. Vadim Petrov's imposing figure appears in the doorway. Quickly, she turns off the white noise. She doesn’t want her father to know that we were having a conversation that she didn’t want anyone to hear.
"Kira," he calls, his accent thickening her name. "It's time for the announcement."
She steps away from me smoothly, her professional mask sliding back into place. "Coming, Father."
As she moves past me toward the ballroom, she whispers, "This conversation isn't over, Rosso."
"I'm counting on it, Petrov," I murmur back.
She walks away, the red silk of her dress moving like liquid fire. I watch her go, my mind racing with new calculations and possibilities.
Kira Petrov isn't just NyxBinary, my digital rival. She's a mirror—reflecting the same trapped brilliance, the exact desperate search for escape. The same willingness to burn everything down to be free.
For the first time since Vito announced this arranged marriage, I feel something other than resentment.
I feel hope.
Dangerous, volatile hope.