"Remind me why we're at a Russian party in a warehouse in Red Hook?" I ask Saint as we enter. I'm in a gold sequined dress and heels, and I'm freezing my ass off. I would have purchased something, but the invite came last minute, and the dress code was something I'd never heard of.
"Because politics," his hand is warm against my back. "Igor needs to see we're publicly backing him." "Besides, if something goes wrong, I want to be here."
I raise a brow in surprise. I'm shocked he'd want me here if he suspects things will go wrong.
"Nothing's going to go wrong." I sound more confident than I feel. "Igor has the support. The family is behind him, and none of the other players are interested in the succession. Artem lost."
"Maybe."
We've been on pins and needles for two weeks to see what would happen, and when Igor sent us the invite for his coronation, I felt like I could breathe again.
He was being crowned. This is good. It means that the New York Russians are backing him, which means that Artem lost. Saint is also on edge, but like me, I know he sees this coronation as a good thing.
If he were going to make a move, I'm sure that Artem would have made a move by now.
"You need to relax," I tell Saint. "We won."
"I think we should stay alert. That's all."
I roll my eyes. Saint does not want peace in life, but I'm hoping that after tonight, we can move forward, and deal with our problems, which we still haven't done, since there really hasn't been time.
Marcello appears beside us. He's like a shadow these days, and I don't know how to feel about it. He's good for Saint, the calm to his storm, but Marcello oversteps, and it's annoying. I'd also like to have a moment alone with my husband, but I bite my tongue as he makes his presence known. "Quite the turnout. Must be two hundred people here."
"Russians like their parties," Saint mutters. "How many are Igor's people versus neutral?"
"About sixty-forty. In Igor's favor." Marcello scans the crowd.
I roll my eyes. Marcello is feeding into Saint's paranoia. "Artem has been silent. Can't you two just let it go?"
"He could be planning to blow us all up," Saint's eyes scan the crowd, as though he would be able to spot a bomb out in the open.
I roll my eyes.
"You're paranoid."
"I'm alive." Saint's eyes never stop moving, scanning, and assessing. "Because I'm paranoid." His hand on my waist squeezes slightly. "And I plan to keep it that way."
Igor spots us, and he waves us over jovially.
He's dressed well in an expensive suit. The deep lines of his face break as he sees us. "Yes," I say, as I smile and make my way towards him. "Very threatening."
"Marini! Mrs. Marini!" He's already drunk. I can smell the vodka on his breath. "You came! You honor me with your presence."
My eyes widen at his behavior. He's being reckless, even at a coronation, and I can hardly believe it. Is this how the Russians operate? No wonder they go through so many Pakhans, they are incredibly careless.
"Congratulations, Igor." I smile, graciously "We're happy to see the family in such capable hands."
"Yes, yes. Capable hands." He laughs. Gestures around. "Look at this! All of them. Here to see Igor become Pakhan. Because of you. Because of your backing."
I swallow. He's shit-faced. The stone-faced man I'd met, the serious one who showed such disdain for Alexei, is gone. And in his place is someone who is allowing the power and booze to loosen his tongue. Maybe not so bad, except for the fact that he's in a mixed group.
I smile and offer my congratulations. It's not my or Saint's place to reprimand him, and the two of us are clearly on the same page.
"We are glad to be here, in celebration," Saint says diplomatically. I'm shocked at how composed he is, or at least how good he is at pretending.
"Modest! I like modest." Igor pours vodka and hands the glasses to us. "Drink! Tonight, we celebrate!"
We drink. The vodka burns going down. It's the good stuff, extremely expensive, but potent.
