“You need to talk to him?”
Vlad’s mouth tightens. “He’s easily offended and holds grudges that outlive governments. A brief courtesy call is mandatory.”
I reach for his arm. “I’ll come with you.”
He shakes his head. “I’m doing you a favor by letting you sit this one out,kotenok. Besides, I’ll need an elegant rescue. When conversation turns to Baltic shipping codes, I’ll give you the signal and you can come whisk me away.”
I laugh, nerves flickering into delight. “So I’m the getaway plan?”
“We’re a good team.” He leans in, lips skimming my earlobe, then nips just hard enough to make me gasp. His whisper vibrates through me, “Later, I’m going to unwrap you like the last gift under the tree.” A quiet growl, then he’s gone, cutting through onlookers with predatory grace.
I stand there a moment, breathless, watching the dark prince of New York bend in courtly greeting to a czar of the old world. The chandelier light finds the silver in his hair and turns it into starlight.Mine,I think to myself. My pulse hums; it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.
A swirl of waitstaff cuts across my view—black vests, white shirts, trays of vodka shots. One server hesitates, turning, and the tilt of his jaw hooks my attention. Copper-brown hair, familiar cheekbones.
Jack.
My blood turns to ice. He’s shaved and dressed like the others, but his hazel eyes hold the same restlessness from the other night. He pivots toward a staff-only door near the exhibit wing. Instinct screams to fetch Vlad, but Jack is already slipping through the door, and if I don’t move now, the chance is gone. I gather my skirts and glide after him, head down, avoiding eye contact with the crowd.
The corridor behind the ballroom smells of lemon polish and cold stone. Jack moves quickly, tray abandoned on a marble pedestal.
“Jack!” I hiss.
He spins. Recognition flares, then panic. “Teresa, you shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, grabbing my elbow. “This isn’t a good time.”
“Why are you here?” My voice trembles between fury and fear. “Are you working with Volkov?”
His eyes dart over my shoulder. “I’m trying to fix things. You have to trust me.”
“Trust you? You broke into my apartment!”
“Lower your voice.” He shakes his head. “You weren’t supposed to see me here.”
Jack glances over his shoulder then turns, striding quickly down the hall.
“Jack—wait!” I follow, pulse pounding. He’s already at the corner, disappearing behind a column of mirrored glass. I quicken my pace, breath fogging in the cool air spilling from somewhere ahead.
By the time I round the corner, he’s gone. A service door hangs ajar, the cold pressing in. I push out into a narrow, dimly lit stretch of the hotel’s grounds half-hidden behind the ballroom’s glittering façade. The wind’s sharper here, snow picking up in quicksilver flakes that sting my cheeks.
“Jack?” My voice carries, but there’s no answer. Just the crunch of my own steps over a thin crust of ice. My eyes sweep the hedges, the shadowed path toward the parking bays, empty.
I hear heavy footsteps thudding from somewhere to my right. Another set follows, closer. My breath catches. I turn?—
Two men step out from between the dark trees, their suits too nice to be wait staff. One closes the distance in a flash, clamping a hand over my mouth. The other seizes my waist, hauling me back. The snow spins with the lights from the ballroom, my vision narrowing.
“Hey!”
A shout behind us—Vlad’s voice—lethal and sharp as a switchblade. My captor whips around, reaching inside his jacket. A silenced shot snaps off and the man’s head jerks. He crumples, grip loosening from my waist. The second attacker shoves me forward, lunging at Vlad with a serrated blade.
Vlad side steps, catching the man’s wrist and twisting until bone cracks. The knife clatters to the ground. With his free hand, Vlad draws a compact pistol and plants two rounds in the thug’s chest, the sound barely louder than a cough. Blood spatters the ice. The man folds like paper.
I stumble back, heart crashing. Dmitri barrels in behind Vlad, weapon raised, sweeping the area. “Clear,” he says. Vlad’s focus snaps to me, hands skimming my arms, checking for injury.
“I’m fine,” I manage, voice shaking.
Over his shoulder I see Jack sprinting toward the street. For a heartbeat, Vlad tracks the fleeing silhouette—calculating—but when he looks back at me, anger melts to relief.
“Later,” he says. He tucks the pistol beneath his jacket. “We leave. Now.”
