Kirill’s thumb passes over the centerline of his lips as they tip up at the corner. It’s not quite a smile, more like he’s baringteeth. His brothers seem impatient to leave, but he doesn’t acknowledge them.
“As much as I’d enjoy watching you dance, I don’t audition the talent, and I don’t have time for this.” He waves a hand like he’s brushing away a fly. “Good luck on the job hunt.”
He turns away.
Desperation flares in my chest.
“Your dancers are good,” I say, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “But I’m better. Give me five minutes and I’ll prove it.”
That stops him. He turns back, eyebrows raised, as Demyan lets out a low whistle. The whole room seems to hold its breath.
“What’s your name?” His voice drops to something rough and intimate.
“Evelina. Evelina Panova.”
“That’s a very bold claim, Evelina Panova. Have you seen the girls who dance here? Are you sure you’re going to impress me when I’ve had the best exotic dancers in the world perform for me?”
I meet his stare without flinching. Growing up around Syndicate soldiers taught me never to show weakness when powerful men are testing you.
“I know what I bring to the table. I’m different from what you’ve got, and sometimes different is what people want.”
I’m talking a good game, and I pray the two months of private pole-dancing lessons I took in Moscow prove to be enough.
Matvey chuckles and elbows his brother. “I like her. But seriously, we don’t have time for this shit.”
In my periphery, Oksana shakes her head, probably convinced they’re going to find my limbless body floating in the Hudson tomorrow.
Kirill ignores his brother and steps forward until he’s only inches away. Close enough to reveal his dilated pupils, theshadow of stubble along his jaw, the fullness of his lips. He smells like leather and the faint tang of cigar smoke.
His jaw locks, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far, if security’s about to drag me out by my hair.
Then he smiles. It’s a wolf’s smile, predatory and cold, sending a chill racing over my skin.
“Fine,” he says, voice deceptively light. “You want to audition so badly? Let’s see what you’ve got.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “But I’m warning you now—if you’re wasting my time, you’re walking out of here and never coming back. Understood?”
My throat constricts, but I manage a nod.
Kirill turns to his brothers. “Get a head start. I’ll catch up.”
They both shoot me a weighted look before they nod and leave without protest.
Without another word, Kirill jerks his head toward the back of the club—the universal gesture for “follow me”—and stalks away.
Oksana’s stare drills into my back, but I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with her. She tried to help me and I acted like an asshole, not to mention, lied to her about not knowing who owned this club.
But I did what I needed to do.
Now I can’t fuck this up.
CHAPTER
TWO
KIRILL
I should be meetingwith our arms suppliers right now, not auditioning dancers for a position I don’t give two shits about.
I must be half out of my mind to let Evelina lure me here by my dick.
