Page 33 of Hostage of the Russian
Kostya had to admit she had a point. “Perhaps. The best lies are often wrapped in truth.”
“God, you’re paranoid.” She turned back toward him, and in the lamplight, he could see exhaustion written across her delicate features. “I’m not working with my father, Kostya. I’m not working with anyone. I’m just a woman who got caught up in circumstances beyond her control, trying to figure out how to survive in a world I never asked to be part of.”
The sincerity in her voice was compelling, but Kostya hadn’t survived this long by taking people at face value. “Then you won’t have any objection to proving it.”
Suspicion flickered across her face. “How?”
“There’s a gathering tomorrow night. Allied families, business associates, the kind of event where information flows as freely as champagne.” He stood, moving closer until he could see the flecks of silver in her gray eyes. “You’ll attend as my wife. Meet the people who matter in this world, show them that the Nikolai family has gained a valuable asset.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll know you have something to hide.”
She was quiet for a long moment, and he could practically see her mind working, weighing options and calculating risks. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But I have conditions.”
“You’re hardly in a position to make demands.”
“I’m in a position to make your life very difficult if you don’t listen.” The steel was back in her voice, reminding him why he’d found her so captivating from the beginning. “I’ll go to your party, play the role of devoted wife, charm whoever you need me to charm. But in return, you keep your suspicions to yourself. No more accusations, no more testing. If I prove I’m not working against you, this conversation ends.”
Kostya considered her proposal. It was reasonable, which somehow made him more suspicious rather than less. “And if you are working against me?”
“Then I’m terrible at my job, and you have nothing to worry about.”
Despite everything, he found himself fighting a smile. Even when she was potentially lying to him, Azriel Hartford was magnificent. “Very well. We have an agreement.”
The next evening found them dressed for war, although to any casual observer, they appeared to be a couple preparingfor an elegant social gathering. Azriel wore a black dress that skimmed her curves without being ostentatious, her dark hair swept into an elegant chignon that exposed the graceful line of her neck. She looked sophisticated, expensive, and entirely appropriate for the wife of a high-ranking Bratva member.
“Nervous?” Kostya asked as their driver navigated through the Chicago traffic toward the neutral ground where the gathering would take place.
“Should I be?”
“These people aren’t your college classmates, Azriel. They’re criminals, some more dangerous than others. They’ll be watching you, judging whether you’re an asset or a liability to the family.”
“And which am I?”
“That remains to be seen.”
The venue was a restored mansion in Lincoln Park, the kind of place that hosted charity galas and political fundraisers during the day and served as neutral territory for less legitimate business after dark. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over well-dressed men and women who moved through the rooms with the casual confidence of people accustomed to power.
Kostya kept his hand on the small of Azriel’s back as they moved through the crowd, a possessive gesture that served multiple purposes. It marked her as his, warned others to keep their distance, and allowed him to feel the subtle changes in her posture as she processed her surroundings.
“Lorenzo Romano,” he murmured near her ear as they approached a distinguished man with silver hair and calculating eyes. “Italian family, controls the South Side. Valentina’s father.”
“Kostya.” Lorenzo’s smile was warm but didn’t reach his eyes. “I was beginning to think you’d decided to skip our little gathering.”
“Business ran late. Lorenzo, I’d like you to meet my wife, Azriel.”
“A pleasure.” Lorenzo took her hand, pressing a brief kiss to her knuckles. “I was beginning to think Kostya was too set in his bachelor ways to ever settle down.”
“Everyone finds their match eventually,” Azriel replied smoothly, her smile polite but not overly warm. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your daughter. I hope to meet her soon.”
“Valentina will be delighted. She’s always looking for intelligent conversation, and I suspect you two will have much in common.”
They continued their circuit of the room, and Kostya found himself grudgingly impressed by Azriel’s performance. She asked appropriate questions, offered the right compliments, and managed to seem genuinely interested in conversations about shipping schedules and territory agreements without appearing to gather intelligence.
It was exactly what he would have expected from a well-trained operative.
“You’re doing well,” he said during a brief moment when they were alone at the bar.
