Page 102 of Bratva Butcher

False.

False, false, motherfucking false.

The truth of it was, “Natalie” was hired by Johnathon’s mother to accompany him to the event. It just so happenedIwasn’t the Natalie his mother actually hired. I’d been monitoring Johnathon’s text messages, trying to pick the right moment to strike, when he told his mother he desperately needed to find someone to come with him. Apparently, showing up alone to those kinds of things was considered bad taste.

I kidnapped the real Natalie, stuffed her in the boot of my car and took her place. It was actually a lot easier than I anticipated. Johnathon had never met her before, had no idea what she looked like, and because all of the details of where and when to meet were in the text messages, it wasn’t difficult to just slip right into the role.

“Right. Family friend.” Ian pumped his eyebrows up and down. “Honestly, it’s like they let anyone into these things lately. Absolutely no sense to the social order of things.”

“Yes, and their first mistake was lettingyouin,” Andre quipped, tipping his head back and taking a sip from his glass.

“Ha, ha. Hilarious,” Ian huffed. “Talk to me when you’ve made your first million.”

“It’s not the same thing if you didn’t earn it. Tell me, how does it feel to spend Daddy’s money all the time?” Andre asked, arching an eyebrow.

Ian’s face reddened in anger.

Andre turned away from him and gave me a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Natalie. Ignore him. We all do.”

“I think I’ll do that,” I chuckled.

Light chatter picked up around the table, everyone falling into the casual niceties those types of events brought forth. I remained silent, not having much to contribute to the conversation if I wanted to maintain my cover. Andre and Joel were the only ones who tried to include me, which I appreciated. They were the only people around the table I didn’t want to stab in the eye with my fork.

I picked up my champagne glass, casually glancing at Johnathon’s as I brought it to my lips. There was a small vial of Thallium in my clutch—a tasteless and odorless poison that was virtually undetectable in an autopsy. I needed to find some way to get it into his drink.

Being as high profile as he was, I couldn’t kill Johnathon the way I would usually kill all my marks. His death needed to be a bit more discreet. Be done with more finesse. It needed to look like natural causes.

The best way to do that was to poison him.

Thallium was a good choice because most doctors never thought to test for it and it could take several days to actually kill the victim. Making it absolutely perfect for what I needed.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Electricity sizzled down my spine at that deep, husky voice. I looked up over the rim of my glass to see Dimitri standing at the other side of the table, one hand on Ian’s shoulder.

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Richelle’s mouth dropped open when her eyes landed on Dimitri and the gorgeous fucking specimen he made, standing there in a suit that was molded to his frame so well that we could see every outline of his muscles. Lust burnt in her eyes. I wanted to cut them out of her fucking head.

“Yes, I do fucking mind—” Ian’s words cut off with a frightened choke when he turned and saw that it was Dimitri asking for his seat. He paled, his whole face going white as a ghost.

The expression on Dimitri’s face was pleasant enough, but there was a dangerous look in his eyes. One that Ian saw because that pussy backtracked so fucking quick that he stuttered.

“N-no. No, not at all. Here you go.” He got to his feet, dragging his wife up with him. “Come on, Victoria.”

“But I—”

“Shut up,” he hissed when she tried to protest. He fled quickly, dragging her behind him.

Dimitri undid the buttons on his suit jacket with one hand and then sat down, eyes firmly on me.

Shivers danced down my spine. The fuckingpowerthat man wielded. All it took was one glance from Dimitri Volkov to send Ian running for his life.

Why do I find that so fucking hot?

There was a brief moment of awkward silence as Dimitri’s companion, Mikhail, took his seat.

Richelle, now next to Dimitri, batted her eyelashes and gave him a seductive smirk. “Hi,” she whispered, voice raspy. “I’m Richelle.” She offered her hand like she expected Dimitri to kiss it. As if she was royalty.

---