Page 69 of Devil In A Suit

There’s an undeniable warmth in his words, my mother smiles graciously and the table bursts into applause. There’s a collective murmur of appreciation, heads nodding in approval as glasses are lifted and champagne is consumed. Nikolai’s gaze lingers for a moment on one of our older relatives, an uncle with a notorious reputation.

"Uncle Mikhail," Nikolai says with a smirk, "let’s try not to make it like last year, hmm? Leave some wine for the rest of us." His teasing tone brings out soft laughter from the family, and Mikhail, sitting at the far end of the table with his fifth or sixth glass of wine, stands unsteadily and bows playfully.

“Also… and before we go any further," Nikolai says with a mischievous gleam in his eye, his voice shifting to a lighter note, "I’d like to give a special welcome to someone new at our table tonight—Lara.”

At once, all eyes shift to Lara, and there’s a moment of uncomfortable silence as Nikolai, clearly relishing the moment, smiles wider. "We don’t often get the chance to have new faces here, so Lara, maybe you’d like to say a few words?”

I can feel Lara stiffen beside me, and before she can respond, I raise my hand, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. "This is a night to celebrate my mother, not my lover, Nikolai.”

The air around us changes instantly, the energy shifting with my words. Nikolai lets out a small chuckle and lowers his glass."Of course, Ivan. I was just trying to make your guest feel welcome."

How victorious he looks now that he has got under my skin. I catch a few sidelong glances in my direction, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough of his silly little games. A subtle but palpable shift settles over the table. The remaining toasts of tribute to my mother are polite but lack the earlier ease. The ugliness between Nikolai and me has tempered the mood. The cake is wheeled out, and we all sing for my mother, the candles are blown out and the night continues.

Afterwards, we move to the patio for the cognac and cigars for the men and cake and sweet port for the women.

The night is cooling, and the soft glow of lanterns lights the path as we walk. The vineyard itself is scenic, stretching for miles out under the moonlight, but I barely notice any of it. My mind is tangled up with what is happening back in London, with the constant calls from my lawyers, the updates that keep coming in about the properties and assets being seized. The authorities appear to be moving at lightning speed. Just an hour ago they impounded my yacht moored in the Bahamas.

I move away from the gathering, finding a quiet corner in the vineyard’s lounge, away from the garrulous chatter. Pulling out my phone I dial and the call connects almost immediately.

“Ivan,” my lawyer’s voice is clipped, on edge, “we’re doing everything we can, but it’s not looking good. The French authorities have tightened their hold on the chateau, and the British are relentless with the Mayfair property. They’ve frozen everything under suspicion of financial misconduct.”

“Are they not even going to wait and go through the mountains of evidence we’ve provided?” I ask in disbelief, pacing in the dim light.

There’s a pause on the other end, the hesitation grinding on my already frayed nerves. “They’re digging their heels in,Ivan. They’ve been tipped off about irregularities with Chinese steel deals, and I’m afraid the US is getting involved now too. They’re looking at everything—the finances, the acquisitions, your connections to Russian interests.”

My grip tightens on the phone, the mention of the steel deals only stokes my anger even more. “What irregularities?” I demand, trying to keep my voice steady. “Everything is above board and they know it. I’ve kept this business clean—there’s nothing for them to find.”

“The British authorities don’t care. They are on a witch hunt. It’s political. Given your background they thought you were an easy target and they’ve spent a lot of time and money chasing you and now they need to show results,” he replies. “And now they’ve got the Americans sniffing around too, looking for connections to illegal Russian funds.”

A curse escapes me as I pull at the collar of my shirt. There are not fucking serious. Connection? Whatever connections there are, are weak at best. I want to shout, but I realize that doesn’t matter to the authorities. Perception is enough. They’ll drag this out for as long as they need to, ruining everything in the process.

“How long will all this take? How long can they legally keep my assets?”

“Sorry, Ivan, but the answer is: indefinitely. Legally they’re combing through the documents and there is a lot, and they are bureaucrats so they have a good excuse to drag this out for years.”

“Years?” I spit the word out. “I’m not waiting years.”

I hang up abruptly and have to quell the desire to smash my phone to the ground. Fuck! The chateau, the yacht, and the Mayfair flat—they’re all tied up in this mess indefinitely! They’re acting as though they have all the evidence needed to build their case against me, as though it’s solid, and I don’t understand why.Their goal is clear: to cripple me and steal what I have worked so hard to earn. I take a deep breath. They won’t beat me. Hyenas cannot take down the king of the jungle. The lion, in its prime, can hold off a whole cackle.

The problem is actually not what is happening now, but what will happen once the American authorities begin to follow suit. They are much more aggressive than the Europeans. Then I will really be in deep shit. I’m not the first Russian billionaire who has been harassed like this—it’s normal, but I’m the first guiltless billionaire.

When I turn back toward the others, I see Lara watching me from across the room. She’s been keeping her distance, and I can’t blame her. I’ve been distant all night. Without a word, I get up and head toward the door, walking briskly to the office where I’ve spent my time since I arrived. I need space. I need to think and I need to plan.

I can feel Lara trailing behind me, her figure silent but persistent. As soon as we are out of earshot of the rest of the party I turn towards her, my voice rough and strained. “Go back, Lara. I need time to think.”

But she doesn’t move. Her eyes, wide with concern, lock onto mine, and she steps forward instead of retreating. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is soft, careful, like she’s walking on fragile ground, trying to understand what’s going on inside my head. “I know it’s none of my business but …”

Her expression stops my heart. I realize she is what I need. I want to hold her close, want to tell her all my frustrations, but... I can’t. I’ve never confided in anyone before. I always solve all my problems on my own. I am the lone lion, roaming the savannah on his own. I can’t let her in. She is already too close. Anyway, it looks like soon I won’t be able to afford to keep her. The thought sears me. There is nothing I cannot afford.

I take a deep breath, shaking my head. “Just go,” I say, more forcefully this time, but it’s more for my own sake than hers. I’m trying to push her away, trying to stop her from seeing more than what I want her to.

But she shakes her head and stands her ground. She comes closer, eyes defiant. “No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

I let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through my hair, the tension in my shoulders knotting tighter. Before I can say anything else, she snatches my hand and starts running towards the house. I could have tugged once, and she would have come to a sudden stop, even slammed into me, but no, I run with her. In the cool night air, we run like two lovers towards the summerhouse by the lake. Out of breath, she opens the door and pulls me in. Then she shuts the door. The soft click of the latch feels final, sealing us in together, along with everything unsaid between us. She leans against it and in the dim light from the lamp outside stares at me.

“This fuck is already paid for. Why not get your money’s worth?” she says softly.

What irony. I paid for the houses, the yacht, and the cars too, but instead, I’m getting fucked by Western governments. But she is right. This fuck is paid for. I close the distance between us, my hands finding her waist and pulling her to me in one swift motion. She gasps, her body stiffening with the savagery of the movement, but she quickly melts into me. Her lips part as I swoop down on her mouth hungrily.

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