I… I can’t believe it.
“You okay?” she asks, gazing at me across the room.
Swallowing, I look back at my computer screen. “Sure.”
“What’s that expression about?”
I love you.
I’d do anything for you.
“Nothing.”
“Mmmhuh. You don’t want to tell me.” She rolls her eyes and returns to reading her hockey smut.
I can’t sustain this. I have a decision to make.
And just as when I first saw Tess, it’s not a choice. My body has already decided.
It doesn’t take me long to hack into the relevant group chat, given that Mayfair gave me his phone number in the futile hopeI’d use it. And then it’s a case of checking what they’re talking about, and bingo.
There’s an event. I check the details, and then search through Tess’ web history to see if there’s anything appropriate. Only a few minutes, and I find something perfect, and I send the link to one of my men to acquire it. He gets the easy job today.
Then I email my second-in-command. My hobby is an open secret amongst those in the Blackfen mafia. They’re all vetted, and they might be ruthless, but they have a dark sort of moral code. This is the first time I’ve asked my men to be actively involved.
A response comes within minutes.
With pleasure, Pakhan.
Almost like he’s been waiting for me to allow him to help. Perhaps I could have asked earlier, and not had to do all the killing on my own.
Thankfully, I’m not left with that uncomfortable thought for long, as my order for Tess arrives in less than an hour.
“We’re going out this evening,” I tell her, dropping the bags onto the sofa.
“What?” She tilts her head up to look into my eyes. “Why?”
Because you inadvertently hit a nerve.
“You’ll wear this.” I unzip the dress bag, and indicate the delicate pink silk.
Her eyes go wide as recognition hits. “That’s?—”
“Yes.” I cut her off. “If you were looking at it because you thought it was ugly, bad luck.”
She’s silent for a moment, full of curiosity, and what feels absurdly like trust. Then nods. “Where are we going?”
I swallow. “You’ll see.”
17
TESS
Kirill has bought a designer dress that I admired online weeks ago, and it’s even more gorgeous in real life. A dusky pink, it reaches to my knees in flattering layers of silk. Not only that, but the whole outfit that I planned out in my mind. The lipstick, the shoes in the correct size—of course—and the lovely hair stuff I took out of my shopping basket because I couldn’t afford it.
He messages me when to be ready, and he’s in the double-height entrance hall, looking absurdly handsome in a suit, his black hair as untamed as ever, as I walk down the glass staircase, and when he hears me and turns, my heart attempts to throw itself—and me—down to him, and totally distracted by Kirill and unused to the high heels, I nearly trip.
Instantly, Kirill is up the stairs, before me, hands on my waist to steady me. He’s two steps below, and we’re almost face to face.
