Lev nodded and moved toward the foyer, already speaking quietly into his phone.
Nadia watched him go.
When the elevator doors closed behind him, the penthouse became too quiet.
Wind pressed faintly against the glass. The city blinked below us, careless and bright. Nadia sat on my sofa in auction silk and my blanket, bare feet tucked under her, rose lipstick worn soft at the center of her mouth.
She looked young for the first time.
Then her chin lifted, and that vanished.
“You said you were late.”
“I was.”
“You said Gennady was behind us.”
“He is.”
“You said auctioneer.”
“Yes.”
Her hand closed around the blanket. “Start making sense, Vadim Sorin.”
My name in her mouth went through me with a violence I kept off my face.
I sat in the chair across from her, not beside her. The table between us held tea, water, food, and enough space for her to breathe.
“I knew Gennady wanted you before tonight,” I said. “I knew he’d found out you entered the auction. I knew he’d pressured the auctioneer to make sure your sale went his way.”
Her face tightened.
“How did you know?”
“I heard him brag at The Samovar Room.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Last night,” she repeated. “You knew last night.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes flashed. “And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because walking up to you in that room with Gennady’s men watching would have put more eyes on you before I had control of the auction.”
She leaned forward, blanket slipping off one shoulder. “You had a whole day.”
“I had men finding the auctioneer, the lot order, the payment trail, and every door in that building.”
“Then why did Gennady win?”
