Done with that, I tossed my phone on the glass table, turned to Vivienne.
The room lighting was dim. Only weak neon from the dance floor below flickered across her face. All that family warfare, gang violence—the soundproof glass seemed to wall it completely outside.
A server broughttwo drinks.
Vivienne curiously picked up the clear liquid with just a lime wedge floating in it. "What's this?"
"Samogon. Russian moonshine vodka." I leaned back on the sofa, watching her test it like a cautious hamster. "My favorite drink in Moscow."
She took a big sip without hesitation.
Next second, her face scrunched completely, tears nearly choking out, tongue out fanning wildly with her hand. "Holy shit... this is straight industrial alcohol! It's burning my throat!"
I chuckled low, pulled the lethal drink from her hand, pushed it to the table edge, then pressed a mild fruit cocktail into her grip. "Don't show off if you can't handle it."
She pouted, carried her cocktail to the railing by the bulletproof glass, leaning over to look down. The crowd below moved like puppets controlled by alcohol and bass, bodies thrashing wildly.
I walked up behind her with my drink, naturally placing one hand on the railing beside her, boxing her completely into my space.
Neither of us spoke.
I watched her profile reflected in the glass.
Twenty years, my nerves stayed taut as steel wire, always ready for betrayal and killing.
But now, breathing the faint cherry scent from her hair, listening to her steady breathing, I felt something unprecedented. Almost luxuriously... peaceful.
"Want to dance?"
"Dance? No, I don't like this kind of..."
"Boring old relic."
She suddenly turned, back against the railing, those blue eyes flashing sly fire in the dim light.
She poked my tie with her fingertip. "The mighty Pakhan doesn't even know how to dance modern, does he? Only those stuffy ballroom numbers?"
I raised one eyebrow, my gaze instantly darkening. "You're provoking me, firecracker?"
"Just stating facts." She lifted her chin brazenly, grabbed my tie, andyanked me down hard. "Come on, old man. Show me if the mob boss is as dominant on the dance floor as he is in bed."
She gave me zero chance to refuse. Just dragged me toward the private room's small exclusive dance floor.
The bass pounded through the floor beneath our feet.
Vivienne turned, kicked off her heels, and moved that perfect hourglass body to the rhythm with absolute fire.
No technique whatsoever. Limbs following the music freely. Wild, unbound—like flames ready to ignite anyone nearby.
She turned her back, pressed against my chest, shamelessly grinding against my hips with the beat.
The thread of reason snapped.
I grabbed her waist hard and slammed her back into me with force.
I lowered my head, almost biting as I kissed her neck, feeling her pulse hammering, moving with the music rhythm in rough, suggestive thrusts.
"You're insane, Vivienne." My rough voice got swallowed by the bass. Only she could hear.
