Page 123 of The Payback

Dimitri looks over at me, a sparkle in his eyes.

“What do you think, dear wife? Shall we put on a show for them?” His words remind me of the private show we had last night—him, Nik, and me.

He cups the back of my head, careful not to jostle the chignon holding my hair in place. He tilts me in one of those old-movie moves and kisses me with so much passion I’m shocked my panties don’t disintegrate. His tongue teases my lips but goes no further, keeping it somewhat PG for the crowd below.

The cheers increase and then Dimitri rights me again. I smooth a hand over my dress as the other touches my flushed chest. He takes my hand and escorts me down the stairs as the guests watch or break into conversation.

Oksana and Sergei meet us at the foot of the staircase, the first in a long receiving line, ready to congratulate us on our nuptials.

“You could have avoided all this if you’d just gone on the honeymoon as I suggested,” Sergei teases.

Dimitri laughs good-naturedly. “And deprive Oksana and Elsa of planning this beautiful gala? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I swat his chest and feel Nik at my back, having followed us downstairs.

There are so many people and faces surrounding us it’s hard to keep track of who’s who—even though I’ve gone over the attendees’ pictures and information a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours. Oksana pulls me in for a hug, distracting me from the overwhelming amount of guests, and pats my back as she whispers in my ear, “Do not forget your role tonight, Elsa. The future is within our grasp, and it is up to us to snatch it.”

Oksana releases me, air-kissing me on my cheek before greeting Dimitri. After being reminded of my role tonight, I step to my left, and Nik moves to the right, leaving Dimitri alone in the centre.

“Congratulations to the two of you again,” she says. “Elsa is a strong and well-suited woman.”

Dimitri looks at me with a secret smile, only noticeable by the tip of his jaw. “That she is,” he says. “She’s constantly keeping me on my toes. We should mingle and greet our guests. Thank you again for helping to put all of this together. We appreciate it.”

“It’s been my pleasure. Do enjoy yourselves. I hear the food is divine,” she says, stepping back, looping her arm through her husband’s, and letting him lead her off.

I feel Nik off to the side, his presence a comforting balm on my frayed nerves. He keeps his distance through the line of people stopping before us and wishing blessings on our new marriage. They descend in earnest as the agents dressed as servers move through the space with their trays, stopping to gather tidbits of conversation on their own cameras and microphones.

After what seems like a thousand conversations, we extricate ourselves from a particularly smarmy politician who wants to bend Dimitri’s ear about funding. Dimitri gets us out of it by asking him to lay out the terms quickly, and he’ll think about them and get back to him on Monday.

The politician does just that, cap in hand, asking for money to back his campaign and illegally bury his opponent in the upcoming elections. That little nugget will go nicely with the rest of the evidence compiled.

“Dimitri, how lovely to see you.” A blonde woman who looks more elegant than everyone else here put together steps forward, placing her hand on my husband’s forearm.

Natasha Volkov, current head of the Bratva. She resides in Moscow, runs the brotherhood with an iron fist, and apparently lies about what information and leverage she has since the diamond is safely back in Interpol’s hands, thanks to Olivia and her guys. Of course, I know who she is, but we’ve never met in person.

“Natasha,” he says, dipping his head respectfully in welcome. “I didn’t know we were expecting you.”

“You think I would miss an opportunity to come to New York and celebrate the happy marriage of one of my leaders? Don’t be daft.” She chuckles, the sound almost melodic, as it rises and falls with intonation.

“Forgive me,” Dimitri says, shaking his head like he’s lost all sense. “Natasha Volkov, this is my wife, Elsa. Elsa, meet Natasha, my boss.”

I dip my head and take her hand when she offers it, shaking it gently. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Not too much, I hope,” she says, her blue eyes swivelling from me to Dimitri, who lets out a low chuckle.

“Not much at all, other than your impressive rise,” he answers, and I back him up.

“It’s true. It’s fascinating how you rose to your position. Dimitri has only mentioned that and how well you lead.”

She leans in, whispering, “Well, it’s nice to hear that some of my changes have been well received. That hasn’t exactly been the case back home. You know how it is with tradition overruling progress. The Sabres are similar in that regard.”

“Too right. And I’m sorry to hear things have not been as smooth at home.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time for a change of scenery, then.”

There’s a small thud from upstairs, and I fight the urge to look towards the balcony where Dimitri and I made our entrance. I already know what that was and who’s responsible. I shrug it off and keep my focus on Natasha.

She nods at one man standing behind her, tilting her head towards the staircase. The big man trudges up, and the other moves directly behind Natasha. The rest of the guests give her a wide berth and observe without making direct eye contact. Her reputation precedes her, and I already know this is not someone I want to get on the wrong side of. But it’s too late for that, most likely.

---