“Quite a party,” she says.
“Antonio likes his celebrations elaborate.”
“I can see that.”
A Russian arms dealer approaches our table, Ian Petrov, brother to the man I killed last month. He nods respectfully before addressing me in heavily accented English.
“Mr. Moretti, thank you for hosting such magnificent party.”
“My pleasure, Ian.”
He turns to Kasimira. “And you must be beautiful new wife I hear so much about.”
Before I can introduce her, Kasimira responds in flawless Russian. The words flow like music, and Ian’s face lights up with delight.
They converse for several minutes while I sit there stunned. She’s not just speaking Russian—she’s speaking it like a native, with perfect pronunciation and complex grammar.
“Your wife speaks excellent Russian,” Ian tells me in English. “Very impressive.”
“Indeed,” I manage.
A German businessman joins the conversation, and Kasimira switches languages seamlessly. Then a French politician approaches, and she greets him in his native tongue.
By the time a Spanish cartel representative starts discussing shipping routes with her in rapid Spanish, I’m staring at her like I’ve never seen her before.
She’s not just multilingual—she’s brilliant. Every conversation is aimed at building connections.
“You speak five languages?” the Spanish representative asks in wonder.
“Six, actually,” she replies modestly. “But my Italian is still weak.”
“Incredible. You must have studied extensively.”
“Languages come naturally to me. I studied international relations in college.”
The German businessman leans forward. “Perhaps you could help with communication problems my organization has been having with our Moscow partners.”
“I’d be happy to facilitate a conversation.”
Right there at the dinner table, she brokers a deal between the German and Ian that’s been stalled for months due to miscommunication. Her translation work and cultural insights lead to a handshake agreement worth twenty million dollars.
“Remarkable,” Ian says, raising his glass. “To Mrs. Moretti—most valuable addition to family.”
The table toasts, and I watch my wife accept praise with the composure of someone born to power.
She’s invaluable. Not just beautiful or charming, but genuinely useful to the organization in ways I never imagined.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the band leader announces, “we invite all married couples to join us on the dance floor.”
Kasimira looks at me expectantly. I stand and offer my arm, leading her to the center of the room where other couples are gathering.
The music starts—something slow and romantic that seems out of place in a room full of killers and criminals. But when I pull her into my arms, everything else fades away.
“I never knew you were a genius,” I murmur as we move together.
“I’m not a genius. I just pay attention.”
“Six languages. International relations degree. You could be valuable to our businesses.”
