I look at him. At his hands. His mouth. The jacket I helped him choose is hanging open and his shirt is rumpled from herhands. He’s moving quickly, adjusting his clothing, buttoning and zipping, and it’s all too much.
“What do you think it looks like?” I ask hollowly, my voice sounding distant to even myself. “Because it looks like you’re fucking another woman at our engagement party.”
He lifts his hands slightly, palms out, in a sign of surrender. “Oh, baby,” he says in a calming tone. “You’ve misunderstood.”
I let out a short laugh. It sounds hysterical. “I’ve misunderstood your dick in her in the goddamn hallway?” I ask.
He steps toward me, lowering his voice, glancing down the hall like he’s more concerned about being seen than about me.
“You’re upset,” he says. “But you’re misunderstanding?—”
“You were fucking her against a wall,” I say. “Thirty feet from our engagement party.”
His jaw tightens for a split second before smoothing out. “She came onto me,” he says. “I told her to stop. She didn’t.”
I stare at him. “You must think I’m an idiot,” I say.
“No, of course not,” he says quickly. “I think you’re emotional right now and?—”
My hand moves before I think about it. I throw my phone as hard as I can, cutting off whatever bullshit he’s about to spit out. It hits him in the face with a sharp crack that echoes down the corridor. He shouts, stumbling back, and clutching his nose.
I don’t stick around for the aftermath. I turn and run, with no particular direction in mind. My breath comes fast and shallow. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I can’t stay here.
I hear my name behind me. I don’t turn around.
The elevator doors slide shut as I throw myself inside and hit the first button I see. I lean against the wall, shaking. My chest heaves and tears spill down my face before I can stop them. I wipe at them with the back of my hand, not caring about the expertly applied makeup I had done earlier.
The elevator hums as it moves. I don’t notice the man inside until I look up. He stands across from me, tall and still, dressed in dark clothes that look expensive without being flashy. His expression is neutral. His eyes are pale and steady.
“Bad night?” he asks.
I let out a shaky, incredulous breath. “Yeah,” I say. “Something like that.”
I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts, it takes me a minute to really look at the man. When I do, I almost start shaking for another reason. I’m alone in an elevator with Andrei Markov, the most notorious Bratva boss in the city.
2
ANDREI
The distraught woman stumbles into the elevator just before the doors close. Her breathing is hard, like she was running away from something, and the smudged makeup tells me it was bad.
The doors slide shut behind her, sealing us into the small space and she slumps against the wall, breathing hard. She’s a tiny little thing in a gold sequin party dress and a tiara. She looks too old to be celebrating a Sweet Sixteen. Another birthday party, maybe? Or a wedding?
It’s impossible to say. The only thing that I can say for certain is that she’s furious. Shaking with it, in fact. There are tears in her eyes, but they aren’t sad, blubbering tears. They’re furious tears from a woman who’s had enough.
She punches at a button, though I don’t know that she even knows where she’s going. She seems lost and aimless, like she ran in here to get away from something and not because she has a real destination in mind.
The elevator hums as it starts upward. The sound is loud in the confined space.
She leans back against the wall and drags a hand down her face, then lets it fall, jaw tightening as if she’s annoyed with herself for the display. I glance at the panel and then back at her.
“Bad night?” I ask.
She startles slightly, eyes lifting to me like she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone. For a brief second, she looks wary.
“Something like that,” she answers in a hard voice.
She’s being vague, of course. She has no reason to trust a complete stranger in an elevator. I’m not here to be her source of comfort, and I’m fine with that.
