Page 8 of Bloody Lace

“I want to go and see the boutique.” My voice is clipped, abrupt, and I can see that I’ve startled Vik.

“The—”

“Just get the car. I need to tell Nicci I’m leaving.” My jaw tightens just at the thought—she’s not going to be happy about it. But right now, all I can think about is seeing what damage the Crows have done to my territory.

And what damage they’ve done to Evelyn.

The minute I emerge from the room, Vik peeling off to one side to go deal with the car, I see Nicci headed in my direction, her honey-blonde hair coming loose from its updo. She’s wearing an emerald green gown made of some sparkly material, sheer sleeves draped off of her shoulders, and she looks monumentally irritated with me.

Which isn’t actually a surprise, given that that’s how she looks at me more often than not.

“Dimitri. Where did you go? I had someone I wanted to introduce you to. One of my father’s associates, here in theStates for the holidays. He’s eager to meet you, he came here tonight specifically?—”

“I’m leaving. I have business.” I’m well aware that I could have softened the blow, but just now I’m too impatient to do so.What’s the worst that could happen? She refuses to marry me?The relief I would feel at that would be palpable. But it isn’t going to happen.

Nicci’s face instantly falls, and then the irritation returns full force. “There are guests waiting to talk to you, Dimitri. One in particular. This party is all about connections, for you, for me—” she trails off, clearly seeing the set expression on my face. “Are you going to go see some other woman?” she demands, and for the first time in my life, I feel a flash of guilt about exactly that.

Technically, I’m leaving to deal with business. But I’m well aware that my urgency has a great deal to do withwho, exactly, owns that business.

“There’s been an attack in the Bratva territory,” I tell her curtly. “I’m going to deal with it.”

“Oh.” Her demeanor changes, her irritation softening, a slight flush in her pale cheeks. She likes when I play the part of the brutal Bratva heir, I know that—she likes what she’s marrying into. I can see it every time she asks me about my work, about what it takes to control a territory like part of Manhattan. The thought of me going out into the city to handle business turns her on, and if I hadn’t been dodging her bed for months by telling her that it didn’t suit the seriousness of our arrangement to not wait for the wedding night, I’d be in for one hell of a ride when I get back tonight.

But the thought of that does nothing for me. On the other hand, the memory of thick black curls and orange spiced perfume?—

“Give my regrets,” I tell her curtly. “There will be other parties, Nicci.”

She steps forward, clearly expecting a kiss or some kind of farewell, but I’m already pivoting, heading to where I know Vik is waiting with the car. I hear the click of her heels as she starts to walk away, the sharp staccato telling me exactly what her mood is, but I’m already thinking about what I’ll find when we go into the city.

I drum my fingers against my leg with nervous anticipation as we drive, Vik sitting up front with the driver, me in the back. The city is awash with holiday light, meant to bring cheer and joy, but I’ve never felt more Scrooge-like than I do this year. My father has been more difficult than ever, and I know with every day that passes I can’t keep putting off going to look for a ring for Nicci. I’ll need to buy one, because I’m well aware that my late mother’s ring won’t do for her. I’d thought, being French, that she’d have an appreciation for a fine piece of vintage jewelry, passed down through the family, but her style runs modern and sleek, and neither of those describe my mother’s ring.

I still don’t know what will be done with it. I’ll pass it on to my daughter, maybe, if I have one, or to a son to give to his future bride. Not for the first time, I think of my younger brother, Alek, gone without a trace. Even after years of looking, we still haven’t uncovered what happened to him. I doubt he’s alive, and I’ve long since come to terms with it. But I can’t help but think he might have liked to hold onto it for a future bride, if he were still here.

As it is, the ring will stay in the safe deposit box where it’s been locked away for some time, until someone has a use for it.

The car slows, turning down one side street and then another, into a slightly less wealthy part of the city. The buildings are smaller, a lot of preserved historic structures turned into shops and apartments. And halfway down the street, I can see what we’re looking for.

The sign outside is illegible now, half-burned. Smoke is drifting through the broken windows—it’s clear that the fire department has come and gone, and what’s left are the ashes.

“Stop here,” I tell the driver. “On the side street, there.”

The car turns down a small street that’s little more than an alley, and as the driver parks, I motion to Vik. “Come with me. Leave the car running,” I add to the driver. “Just in case there’s trouble.”

I can smell the acrid scent from the fire as we walk briskly down the sidewalk, Vik staying close behind me. The smell makes my eyes water as we get closer, and as I reach the shattered windows and door of the boutique, I see a woman inside, her back to me as she leans down. She picks up what looks like the remnants of a piece of fabric, and I think I hear a soft sob as it falls from her hand, back down to the floor.

The sound tugs at my chest. I step forward, broken glass crunching beneath my shoes, and the woman straightens instantly, whirling to face me with a look of alarm.

Her eyes are red and her cheeks are streaked with soot and tears, but I recognize her instantly. How could I not, when I’ve thought about her at least a hundred times, since I danced with her this time last year?

The woman in front of me is, without a doubt, Evelyn Ashburn.

4

EVELYN

“What the fuck do you want?”

I blurt it out without thinking, the minute I hear crunching glass and turn to see a man in a dark suit standing in the doorway of my now-ruined shop. I can’t see his features at first, and my stomach tightens, my nerves on edge for another confrontation. He doesn’t look anything like the Crow who came and threatened me earlier this evening, but what do I know about these kinds of people? Maybe he’s the boss, here to tie up loose ends. Here to see his lackeys’ handiwork. And the grief and anger surging through me is too strong to think about what I say before the words leave my lips.

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