Page 14 of Stalk Me

My phone vibrates with a text from Dmitri.

Done?

Erik’s working. Will have footage within the hour.

Another scream rips through the night, this one raw and primal. I take a long drag, remembering the time in Moscow when Erik made a Ukrainian arms dealer confess to every crime he’d committed since childhood. The man spoke for six hours straight, crying between confessions. We didn’t need the information—Erik just wanted to prove he could break him completely.

The screaming stops abruptly. Silence hangs heavy in the air for three heartbeats before starting again, higher and more desperate than before. That’s Erik’s signature—the false hope of relief before diving deeper into agony.

I glance at my watch. Twenty minutes. A new record for Erik to reduce someone to that level of despair. He’s either getting better, or Petrov is particularly susceptible to pain.

6

SOFIA

My fingers tighten around my clutch as I enter the Fairmont Copley Plaza Grand Ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, soft radiance across the sea of designer gowns and tuxedos. Another charity gala. Boston’s social scene has been relentless this season.

My phone vibrates, and I fish it out, hoping for a distraction. It’s a text from Tash.

So sorry babe, emergency at the museum. Can’t make it tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Ice spreads through my veins. Without Tash as my buffer, I’m exposed. Vulnerable. It’s been exactly a week since I last saw Nikolai at a similar event. Hopefully, he won’t be here.

“Ms. Henley! We’re so pleased you could join us.” The event chair, Margaret Winchester swoops in with her husband in tow. “Your gallery’s contribution to tonight’s auction is absolutely stunning.”

I paste on my professional smile. “Thank you for featuring us.”

“Let me show you to your table.” She guides me through the crowd, chattering about expected donation totals.

My steps falter as we approach table seven. A familiar broad-shouldered figure in an impeccable black tux rises from his seat, and unique gray eyes lock onto mine.

“I believe you know Mr. Ivanov?” Margaret beams, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. “We thought you two might have plenty to discuss, given your shared passion for the arts.”

My throat goes dry. “How... thoughtful.”

Nikolai pulls out my chair, his fingers brushing my bare shoulder as I sit. “Sofia. You look ravishing in emerald.”

The deep timbre of his voice turns my insides into liquid. Of course, he’d be here. Of course, I’d be seated next to him.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” I manage to say, reaching for my water glass to steady my hands.

“Weren’t you?” His knowing smile tells me he doesn’t believe that for a second. “I make it a point to attend events featuring such exceptional pieces.”

The way his gaze slides over me makes it clear he’s not talking about the artwork.

“This wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” I lean closer to avoid being overheard. The scent of his cologne fills my senses—spice and wood.

Nikolai takes a sip of his whiskey, never breaking eye contact. “Are you accusing me of something,malishka?”

“Don’t play coy. You arranged this.” Heat rises to my cheeks—from anger or attraction, I’m not sure anymore.

His large hand slips beneath the tablecloth, landing on my thigh. His fingers dig into my flesh, sending electricity through my body. “And if I did? What exactly do you plan to do about it?”

My breath catches. I should push his hand away and cause a scene. I should do anything except sit here, pulse racing as he rubs circles on my inner thigh.

“I could leave right now,” I whisper.

“But you won’t.” His fingers squeeze again. “Because deep down, you’re exactly where you want to be.”

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