After downing another flute, I decide to make a quick pit stop at the open bar before returning to my family, since I need something stronger to numb myself if I’m to tolerate another vapid conversation. However, just as I start moving away from the balcony, a flash of black ink catches my attention amongst the pristine and well-dressed guests.
A flutter rises in my stomach when I spot none other than Kirill Petrov moving through the crowd, the room parting for him like the Red Sea. I tell myself the nerves are just because maybe—finally—some action will break up this yawning night. ABratvaunderboss showing up here is guaranteed to cause some wreckage, and I’m absolutely here for it.
A logical person would question what on earth Kirill Petrov is doing here. But me? I let out a relieved breath that finally something entertaining is happening.
Not that I like Kirill. The one and only time I ever talked to him, he was a righteous ass. Still, he’s definitely a lot more interesting than anyone else here.
It’s only when I see him make a beeline to my father that my hackles rise. And when the two meet face to face, I half-expect the entire room to spontaneously combust from all the subtle posturing.
Not wanting to be a distant bystander, I place the empty flute on a waiter’s tray and hurry downstairs to hear what they’retalking about. But unfortunately for me, when I manage to weed through the crowd, Kirill is long gone.
Damn it.
My attention drifts back to my parents instead of scouring the ballroom for theBratvaprince. My father and mother are deep in conversation with a state senator, while Annamaria stands solemnly at my mother’s side, doing a piss-poor job of pretending she’s enthralled with whatever they are talking about. My mother is the only one who notices me approaching, but doesn’t break her focus on the senator.
Perfect. That’s all I need to pull Annamaria away for a second.
“What did Kirill want with Dad?” I whisper in her ear.
“Who?” she counters, confused.
“Kirill Petrov. You know? The guy who was just talking with our father before the senator. What did he want?”
But to my chagrin, Anna still looks confused.
Jesus Christ.
How the hell can she not know who I’m talking about?
The man practically radiates main-character energy.
I pull her another step away, so no one hears me interrogate my sister, who was obviously in la-la land at the worst possible time ever, instead of paying attention like I needed her to.
“You know… skyscraper-tall, six-four, black hair, black eyes. Tattoos up his hands and neck. Basically a full-blown thirst trap gift-wrapped in an expensive suit. How did you not clock him?”
“Oh,” she says, the painted image finally making it clear who I’m talking about. “Him.”
“Yes, Anna.Him.” I try not to roll my eyes. “What did he want?”
She bites her lower lip and shrugs. “Honestly, I think he just came to say hello. Nothing else.”
“Just hello? That’s it?”
“I think so. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
Of course, she wasn’t.
“How doyouknow him?” she asks, suddenly intrigued.
“I don’t,” I counter, not wanting to rat out Lucky and Enzo, or how they needed me as muscle to go to Little Russia a couple of days ago.
“Then why ask me about him?” She arches a brow, reading the lie in my eyes.
That’s the thing about me and Anna. I can read her like a book, but she can read me just as easily.
“Because I knowofhim. He’s theBratvaunderboss here in Chicago, so yeah, I’m a little curious why he’s here. Nothing more,” I lie through my teeth, flashing a mischievous smile.
“I know that look.” She laughs softly, “You’re bored and want to pick a fight. That’s why you’re interested. Well, don’t. You promised Mom and Dad you’d be on your best behavior tonight.”
