Page 34 of Hostage of the Russian
“Thank you.” She accepted a glass of champagne from the bartender. “Everyone’s been very welcoming.”
“They’re curious about you. The mysterious woman who finally managed to capture my attention.”
“Is that what I did?”
Before he could answer, a commotion near the entrance caught his attention. New arrivals were being announced, and Kostya felt his muscles tense as he recognized the voice of his security chief.
“Danny Hartford and associate.”
Azriel went completely still beside him, her champagne glass frozen halfway to her lips. The color drained from her face so quickly that Kostya thought she might faint.
“Problem?” he asked quietly.
“I...” She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the entrance. “You didn’t tell me he would be here.”
“I didn’t know.” But that was a lie. He’d arranged for Danny to attend specifically to gauge Azriel’s reaction. What he hadn’t expected was this level of fear, so intense it was almost palpable.
Danny Hartford entered the room like a man who belonged there, his expensive suit and confident stride masking whatever desperation had driven him to offer his daughter as payment. He was younger than Kostya had expected, probably in his late forties, with the kind of practiced charm that came from years of talking his way out of trouble.
But it was Azriel’s reaction that captured Kostya’s attention. She had gone completely rigid, every muscle in her small frame locked with tension. Her breathing had become shallow, and her free hand was gripping the edge of the bar so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
This wasn’t the reaction of a woman working with her father. This was the reaction of prey recognizing a predator.
“Azriel,” he said softly, moving closer until his body blocked her from view of the room. “Look at me.”
She didn’t respond, her gaze still fixed on her father as he worked the room with practiced ease. Kostya could see the exact moment Danny spotted them, could watch recognition and something else, something calculating and cold, flicker across the older man’s features.
“We need to leave,” Azriel whispered, so quietly he almost missed it.
“Not yet.” Kostya’s voice was gentle but implacable. “Running now would only confirm suspicions.”
“I can’t...” She took a shuddering breath. “Please, Kostya. I can’t be in the same room with him.”
The raw terror in her voice cut through every suspicion he’d harbored about her motivations. This wasn’t an act, wasn’t some elaborate performance designed to throw him off guard. Azriel Hartford was genuinely, desperately afraid of her own father.
And suddenly, many things began to make sense.
Chapter 12 - Azriel
Azriel tried to lose herself in the crowd, weaving between clusters of well-dressed criminals as if she could somehow become invisible. Her heart hammered against her ribs with such force that she was certain everyone could hear it over the gentle murmur of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. The elegant ballroom felt like it was closing in around her, the air thick and suffocating.
But Danny Hartford had always been good at finding her when she least wanted to be found.
“There’s my beautiful daughter,” his voice boomed across the space between them, warm and paternal in a way that made her skin crawl. “Azriel, sweetheart, come give your old man a hug.”
Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her feet felt rooted to the marble floor. She could feel the attention of nearby guests shifting toward them, curious gazes drawn by Danny’s enthusiastic greeting. Running now would create exactly the kind of scene that would reflect poorly on Kostya, and despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to embarrass him in front of his associates.
Danny approached with arms outstretched, his smile never wavering even as Azriel instinctively stepped backward. “Don’t be shy, princess. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you.”
“Hello, Danny.” The words felt like broken glass in her throat. She couldn’t call him father, not here, not ever again.
“Danny?” His laugh was loud and slightly too sharp. “Since when do you call your father by his first name? Come here.”
He reached for her before she could protest, pulling her into an embrace that felt like a trap closing around her. His cologne was the same as always: expensive and cloying, transporting her instantly back to a childhood filled with fear and walking on eggshells. His hands pressed against her back, holding her too tightly, too long, in a way that had nothing to do with paternal affection and everything to do with control.
“You look stunning,” he murmured near her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Marriage agrees with you. Your husband is a very lucky man.”
Azriel tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. “Please let go.”
