She extends her hand to Aleksandr, ignoring me completely.
"Welcome back from the dead, Aleksandr." Her voice is smooth, cultured, with just a hint of a Russian accent. "We all thought you'd finally met your match and departed this Earth."
40
ALEKSANDR
The woman approaching us moves like a predator in designer clothing, all calculated grace and sharp edges hidden beneath expensive fabric. My hand tightens on Lena's waist before I can stop the reaction, my fingers pressing into the silk of her dress hard enough that she glances up at me with a question in those midnight blue eyes.
Katya Rostova.
"Aleksandr." Her voice is smooth as aged whiskey, cultured and controlled. She extends her hand, ignoring Lena completely. "Welcome back from the dead. We all thought you'd finally met your match and departed this Earth."
I take her hand briefly, the touch perfunctory and cold. "Katya. I didn't realize you were still in the city."
"Where else would I be?" Her smile doesn't reach those sharp green eyes. "This is my home. Has been for twenty years."
The unspoken accusation hangs between us like smoke. Thiswasher home, before I destroyed her family and left her with nothing but blood-soaked memories and a widow's pension.
"Allow me to introduce my fiancée." I pull Lena closer, feeling the warmth of her body against my side. "Lena Orlova. Lena, this is Katya Rostova."
Katya's gaze finally shifts to Lena, and I watch her eyes travel over my woman with the kind of assessment that makes my jaw clench. She's cataloging everything. The dress, the jewelry, and even the way she stands.
"Orlova." Katya's perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "That's an interesting name. Any relation to Stepan Orlov?"
My spine stiffens but I don't answer her question, and thankfully, Lena jumps in rather quickly so it doesn't seem awkward or like I'm trying to ignore the question. Which, of course, I am.
Lena extends her hand with more grace than I expected, given the tension crackling through the air like electricity before a storm. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Rostova."
"Please, call me Katya." She takes Lena's hand, holding it a beat too long. "And congratulations on your engagement. Aleksandr is quite the catch. Though I imagine he comes with certain complications."
"All the best ones do." Lena's voice is steady, but I feel the slight tremor in her body pressed against mine.
Katya laughs, the sound like breaking glass wrapped in velvet. "I like her, Aleksandr. She has spirit." Her gaze returns to me, and something cold flickers in those green depths. "I was sorryto hear about your ordeal. Whatever happened must have been quite traumatic."
"I survived." I keep my tone flat, giving her nothing. "That's what matters."
"Indeed." She glances around the room, taking in the opulence, the gathered soldiers, the obvious display of power. "And it seems you've landed on your feet, as always. Some men have all the luck."
The word 'luck' carries weight, an accusation wrapped in politeness. We both know luck had nothing to do with my survival. Someone tried to kill me and failed. Someone she probably knows.
"If you'll excuse us." I guide Lena away before Katya can say anything else, before this conversation can become more dangerous than it already is. "I need to introduce Lena to some of the other guests."
"Of course." Katya's smile is all teeth. "We'll catch up later, I'm sure."
I don't respond, just steer Lena toward the bar where Ronnie is nursing a vodka, his eyes roaming over the guests. Keeping watch. The moment we're out of earshot, Lena turns to me.
"Who was that?" Her voice is low, meant only for my ears. "And why do I feel like I just survived an interrogation?"
"Because you did." I signal the bartender for two vodkas. "Katya Rostova is dangerous. More dangerous than she looks."
"She's beautiful." Lena takes the glass I hand her, a soda since she'd said she doesn't want to drink, wants to remain sober andalert during the party. Something in her tone makes me look at her more carefully. "Did you two have a thing? Before?"
The question catches me off guard. "A thing?"
"You know what I mean." She takes a sip, not meeting my eyes. "The way she looked at you. Like she knows exactly what you look like without that suit on."
Jealousy. She's jealous. The realization sends a bolt of pure satisfaction through my chest. I lean closer, my mouth near her ear so I can speak without being overheard.
