“Then we’ll have plenty of time to snoop around. See what information we can dig up.”
“Exactly,” I’m already planning. “Accept the invitation.”
“You got it. I’ll tell Raffaello to be ready–”
“No.”
“Boss?” His voice is questioning, uncertain.
“I’ll go alone.” This is my chance to send a message.
He’s quiet for a long moment before tentatively continuing. “If something goes wrong, you’ll be on your own.”
“It won’t, but we’ll post men outside just in case. Close enough to respond if needed but far enough not to violate their no-bodyguard rule.”
“You got it.”
We spend the next twenty-four hours coordinating the specifics. Omero and I map out the best vantage points for the men and assign teams to target each family’s home to search for answers.
The night of the auction, I slid into the back of the town car, straightening my cufflinks and mentally reviewing everything Omero and I had discussed — the venue layout, the number of men on standby, and everything else — when the passenger door opens.
When I look up, my breath catches. It’s Chloe, wearing a black velvet dress with green accents that make her skin glow. The dress is off-the-shoulder, accentuating her petite shoulders and showing the elegant line of her neck and collarbones. The full skirt pools around her, both modest and captivating. Her hair twisted up into an intricate half-up do with a few strands framing her face.
She looks like she belongs on a magazine cover. Or in my bed. Preferably both.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I manage.
“With you of course,” she says, sliding into the seat beside me, smoothing her skirt. “You need a plus one that’s not a bodyguard, right?”
“Chloe, this is a Russian event. It’s quite literally walking into the lion’s den. It could be dangerous —”
“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t go alone.” She turns those huge eyes on me. “Besides, I’m fine. The doctor cleared me, and Omero helped me pick out the dress. He said it would be perfect for the event.”
Omero, of course. I’m going to kill him.
“This isn’t a game.”
“I am well aware of that, Basili.” A sad look flashes in her eyes. “Trust me. I grew up around men like this. I know how to play the part. I won’t embarrass you.”
I file away the way she says ‘men like this,’ which makes me wonder more about what she isn’t telling me. The past that she’d escaped from. “Chloe, is that what you think? Really? That I’d be embarrassed by you? That’s not it at all. This is —”
She puts a hand on my arm. “Let me do this. Let me help for once. Please.”
I should say no. Should send her back inside where it’s safe. But I don’t.
“Fine. But you stay by my side the entire time. You don’t go anywhere with anyone else, and if I say we leave, we leave without question. Understood?”
Her smile is radiant. “Understood.”
I signal for the driver to go, trying not to notice how the dress hugs her curves. How the green accents bring out the warmth in her brown eyes. How absolutely perfect she looks sitting next to me.
“Omero really helped you pick the dress?”
She smiles, her entire face lighting up. “He has surprisingly good taste, doesn’t he? He wanted me to look like I belonged. Like I was yours.”
Mine.The word makes my chest tighten.
“You look stunning.”
