Page 98 of Bratva Butcher

Anyone who actually knew Mikhail would know it was him in an instant. It did shit all to conceal his identity.

“We’ll go in. We’ll mingle a little. If we haven’t found Anthony by the time dinner is served, we’ll stay—”

“We arenotstaying for dinner,” I cut in firmly, straightening my spine. “It’s bad enough that I have to suffer through the formalities of this stupid thing. I’m not being subjected to sitting down and conversing with these people. I’ll end up shooting someone. We find Anthony and we get out. End of story. No fucking around.” With a frustrated grumble, I put on my mask and gestured to the door with a flick of my head. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mikhail placed his hands on the golden door handles and turned his head to smirk at me. “Remember, big smiles.”

I glared. “Just open the fucking door.”

He barked out a quick laugh before opening the double doors with a great, big flourish.

The ballroom was a sea of people, all dressed eloquently in fashionable ball gowns and expensive suits. Classical music played lightly in the air from the string quartet sitting up high on the balcony overhead. It was a beautiful, wide open space, grand and opulent in its design with crystal chandeliers and ornate, gold fixtures. It was like stepping back in time, the outside world just completely fading away.

Mikhail and I stepped further into the room, the doors shutting behind us. One tradition I was glad Allistair didn’t carry over into the twenty-first century was the need to announce those who arrived. Mikhail and I were able to slip in completely undetected, the other guests already immersed indeep conversation and not noticing that another two patrons had entered.

Several waiters walked past with trays of champagne. Mikhail snatched one up quickly and leant into me to say, “Okay, you take the left side of the room, and I’ll take the right. If we find him, remember to play it cool. We need to get him alone so we can knock him out and slip away without drawing attention.”

“I remember the plan.” A waiter offered me a drink, and I shook my head. He moved on. “Call me when you find him.”

Mikhail nodded and stepped away, disappearing into the crowd of people.

Taking a deep breath in, I skirted the edges of the ballroom, my eyes constantly searching for my target. The masks everyone wore made it a little more difficult to find Anthony, but it wouldn’t make it impossible. I had his physical description memorised, down to every minute detail.

African American, 6’1, brown hair, brown eyes, small scar on his right cheek, slim nose, strong jaw, long sloping forehead.

I repeated it in my head as I moved, scanning everyone around me. Some of the people I recognised from previous events. Margaret DeShawn, a woman in her late sixties who liked to park herself in a corner of the room, surrounded by her minions and gossiping about the other guests without an ounce of subtlety. She was wearing a long-sleeved beige gown with a square neckline and luxury lace ruffles. Her mask matched her outfit, but instead of it being secured around her head, it was attached to a stick that she was holding up to her face.

Her husband, Micheal DeShawn, owned one of the biggest whiskey distillers in the world. He also had a propensity to sleep with his secretaries, who were usually on the younger side.

Dillion Newman, a well-known British politician, was talking with a few other men, a glass of champagne in his hands as he stared openly at the women in the room. Most likely trying todecide which one he was going to try and take home. I’d spoken to him once or twice. The conversation left much to be desired. He had the personality of a walnut.

So did Rafahel Van Burek, an auburn-haired man who owned several tobacco manufacturers. He inherited his fortune and businesses from his father, who was one of the most leading men in the world when it came to the manufacture and distribution of tobacco in the 1940s.

Jin Park and Minjun Han were also there. Half brothers who I knew for their illegal activities in counterfeiting luxury goods and money. I’d met them several times at various events. You had to be careful around them. They liked to steal from other guests—usually expensive jewelry—and use that to create near-identical fake pieces that they would sell for ten times what they were worth.

As I moved, skating through the sea of people around me, I spotted Allistair sitting on a gold ornate chair on a raised dais. It was were he always sat, like he was the king of fucking England and we were all his subjects. Another reason why I hated the man. He rarely mingled, always preferring to sit up there on his throne and have everyone come to him.

I wouldnotbe doing that.

Some people tried to converse with me. A few even recognised me and called me by name. I had zero desire to talk with anyone, so I merely gave a slight head nod in greeting and continued on my way, never slowing in stride. Several women attempted to approach me. They saw the suit—a suit that screamed money—and thought I would be easy pickings for them. They were beautiful women, gorgeous by society standards, and were most likely used to getting any men they set their sights on.

It happened every time I came to one of those stupid things, and it would always get on my fucking nerves. They would give me what I was suretheythought was a dazzling smile. A smilethat had gotten men to fall at their feet in the past, and therefore, they expected me to do the same.

I wasn’t the least bit interested, and I made that clear by glaring at every woman who threw me a seductive smirk, making them shrivel and back up the way they’d come.

Where the fuck are you, Anthony? Where are you—

My whole body stiffened when my eyes landed on a woman in the crowd, dressed in a floor-length, silk green gown that hugged her body perfectly, accentuating luscious curves. She had her back to me, long, thick tendrils of vibrant red hair running down her spine. I couldn’t see her face, but recognition sparked regardless, excitement exploding in my veins.

It can’t be.

She was talking to a man I did not know. Average height, Dr Phil haircut, pointy nose, her hand on his shoulder in an intimate gesture as if they knew each other well.I was locked in place, unable to look away, my eyes running the length of her body. Up and down, up and down, that recognition just flaring to life. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t see her face. My bodyscreamedat me that I knew her, so much exhilaration running through me that I started to shake. She whispered something into his ear and then began to walk away, her back still to me.

My feet moved to follow without any conscious thought, like I was possessed, unable to stop myself from going after her. From seeing if she was the woman who’d been haunting me day and night for the past two weeks. I tracked her, my eyes never leaving her as I slipped in and around the other guests, determination in my steps.

She walked with grace, her movements unhurried as she made her way out of the crowd and down one of the many corridors at the edge of the room. I sped up, slipping into the hallway behind her. If she sensed my presence, she didn’t let on, continuing towalk at the same pace as she turned down another corridor, then another.

My heart slammed into my chest, pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears. My skin buzzed with anticipation, every part of me almost trembling, my mind going into overdrive.

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