Page 5 of Crimson Sin
Again, she surprises me. There's wisdom in that statement. A depth that suggests she's thought about her place in the world more than most people her age.
“What do you do, Daniil?” she asks, sipping her wine and eyeing me carefully over the rim of the glass.
My cover story has been perfected for years, polished until it gleams like a fine piece of art.
“I own a security firm. Obsidian Vault International.”
Recognition sparks instantly in her eyes, and I watch her entire posture change. She leans forward, suddenly animated in a way that tells me I've just become infinitely more interesting.
“Wait.TheObsidian Vault? The cultural transport and museum security firm?”
I nod, enjoying her reaction.
“You handled the Kensington Manuscript last year. I read everything about that operation. Decoys, encrypted transport routes, climate-controlled vehicles, round-the-clock security.” She's practically bouncing in her seat now. “It was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
There's genuine admiration in her voice. No agenda or hidden motive. Just pure, unadulterated wonder at what she believes is my life's work. The irony isn't lost on me. She's praising me for protecting culture while I use that same operation to smuggle weapons and launder money.
“You admire the work?”
“It's more than work. It's preservation. You protect history. You make sure that future generations can learn from the past and see the beauty that came before them.” Her cheeks flush with enthusiasm. “I've dreamed of working with a company like yours. The resources, the expertise, the commitment to cultural preservation.”
She's glowing now, and I find myself genuinely curious about what it would be like to see the world through her eyes. To believe that protecting art and history is a noble calling rather than a convenient cover for my criminal enterprise.
“You seem to know quite a bit about our operations,” I note.
“I make it my business to know. I've followed your work for years. The Byzantine mosaics you transported from Syria, the Native American artifacts you helped repatriate, the Renaissance paintings you secured during that museum fire in Florence.” She pauses, taking a breath. “You do incredible work.”
If only she knew the truth. The Syrian mosaics were a cover for moving arms dealers. The Native American artifacts were stolen from a private collector who refused to pay his gambling debts. The Renaissance paintings were forgeries while the originals were sold to private collectors who care nothing about history.
But watching her face light up as she talks about my supposed dedication to cultural preservation, I find myself almost wishing her version of my life were real.
“I have a proposition,” I announce, deciding to test the waters.
She blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift. “That escalated quickly.”
“One weekend. I need a wife.”
Her wine nearly spills. She sets the glass down carefully, as if it might shatter from the shock of my words.
“Ex-excuse me?” she stutters.
“Pose as my wife for a weekend. Attend an event with me. In return, I’ll fund your exhibit. Fully.”
She stares like I've grown a third eye. I can see her mind racing, trying to process what I've just offered. It's a calculated risk, but one I'm willing to take. I need a wife to satisfy my mother's will, and she needs funding for her dreams. It's a transaction, pure and simple.
“Why me?”
“Because you're passionate. Smart. And untethered.”
She leans back, skeptical now. “So, I'm easy to use.”
“So, you can walk away clean.”
The distinction matters more than she realizes. Most people who get involved with the Bratva find themselves trapped, compromised, or dead. But Naomi represents something different. She's an outsider, untouched by the criminal world I inhabit. She can play her part and walk away without consequences.
I reach into my coat and slide a card across the bar.Obsidian Vault International.Daniil Zorin.My name is embossed in silver lettering. She picks it up like it might burn her fingers.
“You don't have to decide tonight. But think about it. You want your exhibit. I want a solution.”
