“No, thank you,” I said.
Her smile lingered. “I’ll be close.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She left before Lev could look amused.
Gennady Kask stood near the bar with two men from his family’s Brighton crew.
Lev saw him too.
His glass stayed on the table.
The Kasks were useful when they remembered the shape of the arrangement, and they were dangerous when they forgot it.
Gennady forgot often.
He turned his glass by the rim and watched Nadia move between the mirrored bar and a table near the piano.
Black satin skimmed her shoulders and tucked into slim black trousers. Low heels carried her over the tight floor without wasted steps. Small gold hoops flashed against her dark hair, which was pulled high from her face, leaving the long line of her neck bare.
Gennady stepped away from the bar and put himself in her path.
Nadia stopped with half a stride between them. She didn’t back up. She didn’t smile. The tray stayed level in her hand while he leaned close enough to speak under the music.
I couldn’t catch his words from the booth.
I caught her answer in the small shake of her head.
Gennady’s mouth flattened. His gaze moved from her throat to the black satin at her breasts, then lower to the curve of her hips. He took his time with it, as if looking were another way to put his hands on her.
Lev’s hand stilled beside his glass.
Nadia moved around Gennady before he decided whether he’d let her pass. She set two glasses in front of an older couple, took their signed check, and crossed back toward the service station with her shoulders straight.
I’d watched men test her patience before.
They reached with their eyes, their money, their voices, and the casual expectation that a woman in a lounge uniform owedthem softness. Nadia gave them the drink they ordered, the check when they asked, and nothing they could mistake for permission.
Plenty of women leaned toward me because of what I was: the Sorin heir, an enforcer, a man my father’s enemies lowered their voices around. I didn’t resent it. Power had uses. Beauty had uses. Desire had uses.
Nadia had never angled herself toward any of it.
That was what caught me first.
She was gorgeous. Any man with working eyes could see the proud line of her nose, the curve of her mouth, the long neck bared by the high pull of her hair. The black satin and tailored trousers didn’t hide the softness of her breasts or the gentle curves she carried with that careful, upright discipline.
She was sensual without offering it to the room.
That mattered.
In my world, women often learned to make a weapon of wanting. They lowered lashes, chose dresses like invitations, and waited for men like me to notice. Nadia didn’t do that. She moved as if her body belonged to her even when men tried to price the space around it.
Lev shifted his gaze from Nadia to me.
I lifted the Armagnac and let the glass warm between my fingers. “Say it.”
“I prefer my face as it is.”
