Page 39 of Hateful Vows
If I didn’t know better, I’d say his words are tinged with envy.
The ride to the gala is silent and tense. Even Dante, who I’ve rarely seen be anything but boisterous, is stewing and unraveling.
“We’re only staying enough to make a statement,” he says. “Two hours, tops. We don’t stay past the second course.”
Aleksei and I exchanged a glance. He doesn’t like to be told what to do and neither do I but there’s no retort in the face of Dante’s directive.
The rooftop of the hotel is luxurious, a shallow infinity pool running alongside the entire edge of the terrace. The wooden deck has been cleared of the lounger seats, replaced with tropical plants in white clay pots. It’s almost like we left London for a Mediterranean destination. Guests huddle around high-top tables, champagne in hands and already deep in conversation. The elite of business, politics and crime syndicates gravitate around the space, sending each other dirty looks or appreciative ones.
Murmurs follow our entrance as one. My arm is linked to my husband’s and Aleksei follows just half a step behind. I’ve never felt more safe or powerful as with the two men I hate most by my side.
The first unravels me, one quip at a time, the second… I’ve never hated Aleksei. Not really. Not even when he refused surgery for his scars to hide the pain his father caused him, because of me. I thought he wanted me to feel guilty every time I would look upon his face. Maybe that’s not at all why he never cared to hide them or himself.
I tip my head in greetings to Andrea Capaldi and his wife Giulia. She wrinkles her nose at me and I have to work really hard not to roll my eyes at that. Way back when I wanted to get back at my brother for sleeping around, I went after men he’d have really despised me getting involved with. How was I toknow Andrea Capaldi married in secret when I approached him? His wife will never let me live it down.
Not that I care. I don’t need friends. It’s more people that can get taken from me.
A real estate tycoon from Manchester approaches Dante.
“Mr Ventura. I couldn’t believe it when I read you were marrying into the Dobrev’s family,” he says good-naturedly and I recognise him as one of our best clients. “I was thinking about the five-year project you enquired about last time we spoke. You know how it is, I must have lost the file, but I think now is the perfect time to collaborate. Mr Dobrev, such a pleasure to see you again.”
He shakes Aleksei’s hand like he hopes being a client of ours will grant him favours with Dante. I hope my husband sucks him dry, but it’s hard to deny the business benefits of our marriage when they’re so obvious.
They fall into boring conversations about skyscrapers and call for bids from architects.
“I need a drink,” I mutter and make my way to the bar. “Martini, neat.”
I take a sip and luxuriate in the burn down my throat. A silhouette advances toward me, in my periphery.
“Irina Dobreva,” the man greets me, bowing his head with respect.
Towering over me in a white suit that fits the decor of the gala perfectly is an attractive young man with tanned skin and dark brown eyes who looks familiar. Yet, I can’t place his name.
“Toma Kovac. My brother is the head of the Croatian Bratva,” he supplies in Russian, and my hackles rise. His brother is a butcher, rumored to be half mad, and violent for pleasure.
“You’re a long way from home, Toma Kovac. And it’s Irina Ventura.”
I position my body so my thigh peeks through the slit of my dress, the metal of the dagger strapped there glinting in the setting sun. Weapons are technically forbidden but no one here heeded that part of the dress code. The threat in my posture is clear, Toma’s eyes dropping just a second before they’re back on my face.
“Of course,” he dips his head. “As it happens, I’ve recently relocated. My brother and I don’t really see eye to eye.” I fill in the blanks left unsaid. Misha’s taking his business to Croatia, then. “His new partner still has his eyes on good old Albion.”
“So you thought of claiming it for yourself?”
He raises his hands in surrender, a good-natured half smile on his squared jaw, giving him a boyish look and betraying his youth. “Maybe I’m just here to find myself a new family.”
“The Dobrev aren’t known for their familial relationships,” I say just as Aleksei’s dangerous tone cuts through the air. “Step away from her.”
Toma hums and bows to both of us. “I’m a skilled tracker, if you ever need one.” He hands me his card before disappearing in the crowd.
I raise a brow to my brother, rude as always.
“I don’t want your husband to commit murder in the middle of a charity gala,” Aleksei says dryly as he comes to stand next to me. His sharp eyes assess the crowd of murderers, socialites and entrepreneurs around us. Then, they cut to the other side of the street. We’re on the highest point for half a mile so unless they have a very precise sniper on their team, Dante’s enemies won’t hurt him here.
I realise this is the first time we stand side by side at an event, without the threat of his father hurting one of us, or both. I let myself indulge in the moment. It can never be more than a second of almost sharing body heat. In another life, we mighthave been friends. I wish we’d be lovers but dreams are for silly little sheltered girls.
“What did Kovac want?”
“You know him?”
