Page 43 of Ruthless Reign

Tension coils beneath my skin. Is this why she wanted to extend her trip? Because she’s meeting someone? Maybe a man or woman she met last night?

Maybe Paulina.

Fuck. I could barely stand thinking of her with Anatoly, but the idea that there could be someone else pisses me off so thoroughly that I grab a pack of smokes from my drawer and light up, hotel’s anti-smoking policies be damned. I inhale until my lungs burn and the nicotine spreads through my veins, calming my racing nerves.

I open my laptop and check the trackers I discreetly placed in her shoes, purse, and coat earlier, anticipating that she might ditch her cell phone. My hunch was correct.

A blinking dot appears on the screen, heading towards Soho.

I stub out the cigarette and drum my fingers on the windowsill, trying to get a read on the jumble of emotions clogging my chest. I need to psych myself up for whatever I’m going to find.

Liza with another man or woman. Maybe both.

Traffic being light at this time of night, it doesn’t take her vehicle long to arrive at its destination.

I bite out a laugh when I realize where she's gone—back to Sanctuary.

Apparently, she didn’t get enough of the show last night.

Well, if it’s a show she wants, it’s a show she’ll get.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t believe you’re on the guest list.” A statuesque woman with sharp eyes and a tight bun, holding a clipboard, scans the sheet of paper in front of her again. “Tonight is a private event.”

A private event? What the hell does that mean?

“I was a guest here last night. Paulina personally invited me.” I pause then add, “Or I can call Aiden Donnelley, the owner. He's a friend of mine. I’m sure he’d be happy to clarify my identity.”

She frowns and consults one of the giant bouncers behind her.

After some digging, I discovered that Sanctuary is run by the Irish mafia, the Donnelley brothers, who are associates of mine. If necessary, a phone call to them should secure my entry.

However, that turns out to be unnecessary as Ms. Tight Bun waves me through. After being frisked by security, I'm escorted into the main room by one of the topless ballerinas in a black tutu. She gives me some hot and heavy looks, but my only interest is in finding Liza.

“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Vasiliev?” the ballerina asks as I scan the crowd for Liza, who is nowhere to be found.

“I need to see Paulina.” I have a feeling that even if they’re not together, Paulina will at least know where to find Liza.

The ballerina frowns. “As you can imagine, she’ll be taking the stage soon and won’t be available until afterward.”

My brows draw together. “After what?”

She gives me an “aren’t you funny” smile. “After the proceedings, of course. Good luck. Apparently, she’s exquisite.” She winks at me and saunters away.

Proceedings? Good luck?

Something about tonight is different in a way that puts me on edge.

It’s then I take a good look around. It’s not just Liza who isn’t here, there are virtually no women in the room. It’s all men, most of them decked out in sleek tuxedos, with the unmistakable swagger and confidence that only radiate from the very rich.

What the fuck is Liza doing here?

An anticipatory buzz travels through the room. Uncertainty settles over me as the lights dim and a hush falls over the crowd. The burgundy velvet curtains part to reveal a stage erected at the front of the space.

Paulina steps onto a podium to address the crowd. "Gentlemen,” she says with a practiced smile. “You'll undoubtedly agree that we've saved the best for last. It’s not every day that we get to bid on such an exquisite treasure, especially not one all the way from Russia.”

My blood goes fucking cold, disbelief mingling with dread.

Bid. Exquisite treasure. Russia.

---