“So it’s a business meeting disguised as charity work.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Their wives will be there. Three of them, from what I understand. I need you to keep them occupied while I negotiate with their husbands. Can you do that?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“It might get uncomfortable. These aren’t corporate wives. They’re Bratva wives. They know what their husbands do.”
“So do I.” She stands and crosses to me. “I can handle it, Ledger. I’ve handled French investors and Italian hoteliers. I can handle some mob wives.”
I pull her close. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
“You keep telling me. I’m starting to believe it.”
Plaza Hotel ballroom is transformed for the gala. Crystal chandeliers, white orchids everywhere, a string quartet playing near the dance floor. Five hundred people in designer clothes, drinking champagne, and pretending they’re here for the children.
Most of them probably are. But scattered throughout the crowd are people like me. People who use events like this for business that can’t be conducted anywhere else.
Savannah looks stunning in a midnight-blue gown that shows off her growing bump. She’s sixteen weeks now, and it’s visible. Beautiful.
“There.” I nod toward a group near the bar. “That’s Matteo Petrov. The tall one with the beard. The women with him are his wife Irina, his brother’s wife Natasha, and his sister Katya.”
Savannah studies them. “They look normal.”
“They are normal. That’s what makes this life complicated.”
Matteo sees me and nods. An acknowledgment. We both know why we’re here.
“Ready?” I ask Savannah.
“Yep.”
We approach together. Matteo extends his hand, and I shake it firmly.
“Ledger Volkov. It’s been too long.”
“Matteo. Thank you for coming.” I gesture to Savannah. “This is my wife, Savannah.”
Their eyes widen slightly. They’ve heard about me getting married. Probably didn’t believe it until now.
“Mrs. Volkov.” Irina extends her hand. She’s elegant, mid-forties, wearing enough diamonds. “How lovely to meet you.”
“Please, call me Savannah.” My wife’s smile is warm and genuine. “I love your dress. Is that Valentino?”
And just like that, she’s in. The women gravitate toward her, talking about fashion, designers, and where they got their jewelry. Within minutes, they’ve moved to a quieter corner, deep in conversation.
Matteo watches them go, then turns to me. “Your wife is charming.”
“She is. Shall we talk?”
We move to a private alcove, away from the crowd. Matteo’s brother, Angelo, joins us, along with their head of security.
“You’re moving product through Red Hook,” I say without preamble. “That’s my territory.”
“We’re simply using available routes.” Matteo’s voice is casual, but his eyes are sharp. “No harm intended.”
