"Stop!" one barked. "Orders are to pat you down before you go aboard. Cooperate!"
I stood still.
The lead man frisked me under the cover of his crew. He slapped at my jacket, pulled my phone from my pocket, and tossed it aside. He checked my armpits, my waist — and his hand hit the Glock at my small of back.
"Gun!" he shouted and ripped it free, flinging it to a buddy.
He dug on and found the ankle holster. "Another one! He's packing two!"
They took both guns. I showed nothing; it was theatre.
"Enough?" I asked evenly.
He patted one last time, then waved the men off, and they lowered their weapons. I stepped to the center of the deck.
"Wait."
A woman's voice, sickly sweet, cut the night.
High heels clicked on metal as Natasha glided from the shadows. Moonlight flashed off her black leather coat. She sent the big man away and came to me.
"Igor." She cooed and lifted a red-nailed hand toward my face.
I brushed her hand aside with a small, controlled motion.
Her fingers froze midair. Her smile broke for a heartbeat and snapped back. "Still so proud. I used to die for that arrogance. That untouchable look. That ice."
"Finish the search and let me through." My voice was flat. "Don't waste both our time."
"Now, now." She pressed her palm to my chest. "I'll make sure you're not hiding anything dangerous."
She unbuttoned my jacket with deliberate slowness, a tease like punishment. I watched, expression stone-cold.
"Think that'll make me angry?" I said, a mocking curl at my lip. "You've become pathetic, Natasha. Once the golden daughter of the Ivanova family, now reduced to this for a taste of power."
Her fingers jabbed at the tattoo on my chest — Property of Elena — and she slammed a nail into it. "You, a Don of the Bratva, got that tattoo for a gutter girl?" she spat. "You put it over your heart? Igor, you never did anything like that for me. Never!"
"Because I never loved you." I cut in, each word deliberate. "The engagement was family politics. You know it."
Her face twisted with anger. Then she laughed, harsh and bitter.
"Right. You never loved me. Your heart belongs to that whore. Well — she's mine now."
She continued the search. When she crouched to check my calves, she moved more slowly, frowning as if not everything added up.
"Really nothing else?" she muttered, baffled at how thorough the sweep had been.
She rose and scanned me, hunting for a flaw.
"No way," she said suddenly. "You wouldn't be this easy — there's got to be more."
Her hand slid into the right sleeve where the fabricwas barely thicker. Her fingers hit something hard. Her eyes lit. She yanked out the Russian knife.
"Told you," she said, playing with it smugly. "You always like to be ready."
A smile tightened at my mouth.
"Is that so?" I said, amusement threaded through my voice.
