Page 107 of Bratva Butcher

Richelle blanched and looked down at her plate.

I held in my snicker. God, I forgot what a royal jackass he could be.

“What’s going on?” I asked Johnathon. “What is Allistair choosing people for?”

“For his dance,” Mikhail answered instead, rolling his eyes. “After dinner is served, Allistair makes the rounds. He visits each table, engaging in mindless, idiotic small talk before selecting two people to dance. Sometimes, he’ll pick couples.Sometimes, he’ll pick people who hate each other. Sometimes, he’ll pick a man and his mistress instead of picking the wife. It’s all about the drama, really. Rich people get bored easily, and they need to create their own chaos to keep entertained.”

I understood that one. Talon and his stupid fight-to-the-death island was a prime example of what a rich, bored person was capable of.

“Why the hell would anyone agree to do it?” I knew how to dance traditionally, the polka, the galop, the waltz. It was another thing Uncle E insisted I learn. But that didn’t mean Ilikeddoing it. There was no way in hell I’d ever just dance because some rich asshole told me too—

“You either dance, or you’re escorted out of the ball and blacklisted from any future events.”

No.

“Status means everything to these kinds of people,” Mikhail continued, shrugging a shoulder as he glanced around the room aimlessly. “To be banned from one of the hottest events of the year would be social suicide for them.”

Crap.The vial of Thallium was still in my clutch. I hadn’t had the chance to slip it into Johnathon’s drink yet. I couldn’t be kicked out.

I looked over my shoulder. Allistair was making his way through the room, table by table. He would stop, chat for a few minutes and then, all of a sudden, two people would get up and make their way out of the dining area.

And all of them didn’t look the least bit happy about it.

If you ignored the fact that he was wearing a gold crown on his head and that he was covered head to toe in expensive jewellery, he was a rather plain man. Wrinkled skin, pale blue eyes, a full head of grey hair. Absolutely nothing overly memorable about him.

My heart sped up when he started making his way over to our table. There were eight other people sitting there, nine, if you included myself. So that meant I had a one in nine chance of being chosen.

Not the best odds, but also not the worst, either.

“How are we all tonight?” Allistair had a very thick British accent, but I had the sneaking suspicion he was making it more prominent than it actually was. His gaze locked on Dimitri, and a huge smile broke out over his face. “Ah, Dimitri! I heard you were here.” He slapped a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Such a wonderful surprise.”

Annoyance streaked across Dimitri’s face. He turned his head, looked at the hand sitting on his shoulder and then up to Allistair’s face. He didn’t say anything, letting that dark, dangerous look in his eyes do all the talking for him.

A slow grin quirked Allistair’s mouth. “My apologies,” he said, removing his hand. “It’s been so long since you attended one of my events. I forgot you don’t like to be touched. How have you been?”

“Fine,” Dimitri grunted.

“As chatty as always, I see,” he chuckled. He greeted everyone by name, including me—well, my fake name anyway—and gave us all a nod. Then, there was an awkward silence as everyone except for Mikhail and Dimitri avoided eye contact with the man as if they feared looking at him meant he would choose them. “Well, I think we all know who I’m going to select first to join the dance of the night.”

Slowly, methodically, he moved his gaze around the table, looking us all in the eyes before finally landing on Dimitri. He smiled triumphantly.

“No,” Dimitri growled instantly.

Laughing, Allistair shook his head. “Oh, come on, Dimitri! Youhadto know I would pick you! You haven’t been to one of my events in, what, ten years?”

“And it will be another ten years before I attend another.”

“All the more reason to pick you now, then.” Dimitri didn’t move, didn’t stand, refusing to even entertain the idea of it. Irritation flickered across Allistair’s face. “If you would rather not participate, I can have my men escort you out.” At the wave of his hand, four hulking men who were built like fucking linebackers appeared, standing behind him with the threat of deadly force lying deep in the depths of their eyes.

Dimitri didn’t seem remotely bothered by their sudden presence. After witnessing what he was capable of on Talon’s island, I wasn’t the least bit surprised by that. I was yet to see that man intimidated by anyone or anything, and I was pretty sure I would die before I ever got to.

Mikhail, however… Well, that was a different story. He pulled Dimitri to him and they began to have a heated discussion in Russian.

Spoiler alert: for the past two weeks I’d been secretly learning Russian by listening to “Learn Russian” audiobooks. I, in no way, knew enough to get by, but I did know enough to pick up a few things during their conversation.

“I’m not…fuck no…”

“...have too…mission…get kicked out…fucking…do it!”

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