Page 9 of Bloody Lace

And then he steps into the light, and I realize his features are familiar. In the fog of everything happening in the moment, it takes me a second to place him, but then it hits me.

Dimitri. The man I danced with last year at the Met.

He looks taken aback by the sharpness in my voice, his eyes widening briefly.

“I came to see what happened. And if I can offer any help, Evelyn?—”

“You remember my name?” Something jolts through me, a feeling I don’t want right now, hearing him say my name in his rough-edged Russian accent.

I don’t know why he’s here, and I don’t want to deal with this right now. All I want is to burst into tears, and I’m holding them back with all the effort I have, so that I can try to survey the damage and come up with some kind of plan.

But I have no idea what plan could possibly fix this.I’m going to have to give Angela’s check back to her,I think nonsensically, looking at the scraps of fabric on the floor. Her dress is ruined, burned, like everything else here. And I won’t be able to make her anything else in time.

I’m not sure I’m going to be making anything ever again.

“Of course I remember your name. How could I forget?” The man sounds almost amused, which just pisses me off more. He’s looking at the ruin of everything I’ve built in my life, and he’s wondering why I don’t recognize him.

“What do you want?,” I ask flatly, irritation coloring my tone.

“You nearly fell on the ice outside, before a party at the Met. I caught you.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “And then we danced. I asked for your number, but you turned me down.”

“Why the walk down memory lane? That doesn’t answer my original question,” I tell him tartly, crossing my arms over my chest. “What do you want?”

“To see what happened.” He takes a step further into the store, more of the broken glass crunching under his fine leather dress shoes with a sound that makes me want to scream, and for the first time I notice the man behind him.

He screamssecurity. He’s all muscle, filling out his black suit in a way that makes it clear he had to have it specially made, with a thick neck and broad shoulders, his hair cut in a militaristic buzz. His ice-blue eyes are scanning the building, but not taking in the damage. It’s as if he’s looking for someone.

“You’ve seen it,” I say crisply. “If that’s all, then you can go. You and your goon.” I feel more sure than ever that the man in front of me has something to do with this, and my anger is masking a fine thread of fear that’s starting to wind its way through me. I thought I could stand up to the punk who came into my store earlier, but this man is something more. I can feel it, his physical presence taking up more than just the space he’s in, and it makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.

The one with the buzz cut looks entirely unaffected at being called agoon, but the other man chuckles. “We’re off on the wrong foot this time, I see,” he says calmly, taking another step towards me. I tense, fighting off the urge to flinch back and away from him. I don’t want him to see that I’m afraid, but I’m also unsure of why he’s here, or what he wants from me. “Let’s try this again.” He steps forward, extending a hand. “Dimitri Yashkov. And I’m here because I wanted to see what the extent of damage was to your shop.”

The memory of that night rushes back, suddenly at the forefront of my mind—his arm around me, keeping me from falling on the ice, the feeling of his hand splayed over my velvet dress, pressed against my spine, the scent of his cologne. As he moves closer, I can smell it again, juniper woods mixed in with the charred scent of my store’s burned interior, and I swallow hard, once again fighting the urge to back away.

I felt that this man was a danger to me when we met, for all that he saved me from falling. And now I feel that all over again.

“How did you know about my shop?” The words stick in my throat. “Are you with that gang? The Crows?” Another memory comes back to me from that night, of me asking him what he did for a living.I’m in upper management.The double meaning of that suddenly seems clear. “Do yourunthe Crows?”

Dimitri laughs, a clear, cold sound that sends a shudder down my spine. “No,” he says flatly. “I have no affiliation withthem, other than the fact that they’re a thorn in my side. And I know about your shop because I make it a point to know what’s going on in the territory that I’m going to inherit.”

Territory. My conversation with the Crow earlier comes back in a rush. “Shit,” I whisper, and this time Idotake a step back, three quick, hurried steps as my hip bumps into the charred remains of what used to be a chair. The ashy wood crumbles, and that scent of burned wood and paint fills my nose again, making my eyes water. “Are you Bratva?”

Dimitri chuckles. “I’m surprised you know anything about the Bratva. You certainly didn’t clock it when we met the first time.”

I swallow hard. “One of that group—the ones that call themselves the Crows—came by earlier this evening. He threatened me. And he told me my business was in Bratva territory.” I press my lips together tightly. “You’re right, I don’t know anything about Bratva, or gangs, or any of this. But he mentioned it earlier, and you just saidyour territory—so I’m smart enough to at least add two and two,Dimitri.”

Something flares in his gaze when I say his name. “Oh, I think you’re much smarter than that, Evelyn,” he murmurs, his voice momentarily smooth as silk. But it hardens again as I see him mulling over what I just said, as he speaks again.

“You said they threatened you?” His jaw tightens. “How so?”

“He wanted money. Protection from the Bratva, he said. Protection fromyou, I presume.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Which makes me wonder if this has something to do with you. Your orders. Since you’ve so conveniently shown up?—”

“Chertovy ublyudki!”Dimitri curses harshly under his breath, in a sudden burst of what sounds like Russian to me. My skin prickles at the violence of it, the sharp words bitten out between his clenched teeth.

“Did you give them money?” he asks sharply. “For their supposedprotection?”

I shake my head. “No. Of course not. I’m not just going to give money to some asshole because he walks in here and says?—”

“Then this was their doing.Chert voz’mi,”Dimitri growls, cursing again. “The other two businesses that were targeted must have reacted similarly.” He turns to the muscled man behind him. “Vik, see if you can contact the other two.”

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