“I’m excited.”
It was supposed to be a small dinner party, but when Kazimir had delivered the gown, I knew there wouldn’t be anything small about this night.
As soon as I entered, I lost my breath. “Wow.”
“Since my mother’s death and my sister leaving, we haven’t had parties in years.” Kazimir squeezed my hand. “I hope the staff didn’t go overboard.”
Usually, the ballroom was empty with a soaring high ceilings and clean beige walls. Tonight, the staff had gone above and beyond. I felt like I was walking through a fairy garden.
“Wow.” It was like an artist had come in with his paintbrush and executed a living painting. The space boasted striking beauty—rose gold tablecloths and crystal chandeliers. Cream roses covered the walls in an elaborate floral arrangements. Tables shimmered. Six foot candelabras guarded each of the four corners.
A six piece band played rock music in the far back. Their lyrics were in Russian. The lead singer wiggled his crotch as he strummed out a hard melody. A few couples danced in front of them.
Kazimir bobbed his head.
“What’s the name of this song?” I leaned his way.
“Soul Crushing.”
I grinned. “That sounds cheery.”
“This is one of my favorite bands, Crucifix. They came to play for me on short notice as a favor.”
And they were probably a bit nervous to say no.
“Crucifix was one of my favorite bands growing up. A decade later and they’re still putting out top albums. They were banned when they first came out, which made me love them more.”
“Why were they banned?”
“The Kremlin claimed they were too much of a symbol of the Western world, but that didn’t stop them from rising in the Russian underground.”
“What type of songs do they sing?”
“You would think that I liked violent songs, but theirs are...poetic.”
“Aww. My baby is a romantic. I’ll have to check out their albums then.” I glanced up and took in more of the scene.
Several hundred white roses dangled from the ceiling and created an ethereal ambiance.
Jesus. This is not a party. This is a gala.
Gold trees stood at the center of each table. At least twenty crystal globes dangled from the branches. Lit candles sat inside the globes. They were the most dramatic centerpieces I’d ever seen.
We walked further. Many nodded our way. I smiled, but Kazimir barely acknowledged them. He’d explained that these people were the highest echelon of the Bratva. Besides him, of course. At least a hundred people were spread out at big tables—scarred, rough men with gorgeous women in low-cut gowns. Lots of soldiers flanked the walls but still didn’t take away from the sparkling decor.
Where are we going to sit?
I spotted a long table at the end of the room. A massive ice sculpture sat on the far end of the table. A lion roared and towered over us. A small mouse sat on his back, riding him like a horse.
Really, Kaz? Did we have to do a lion and mouse theme?
I swallowed my nervousness.
This looks more like a wedding reception than a simple party.
We came closer to the band and people dancing. In gold light, our names were projected on the floor.
I leaned his way. “This is a small dinner party?”
“Da.”
“And what does a big dinner party look like?”
“You’ll know soon.”
“I bet.” I continued to scan the space. The rock band shifted to another song. Kazimir jerked his shoulders a little with the beat.
I giggled.
“After you meet everyone, we’ll dance.”
Shocked, I laughed again. “Oh, really? The lion is a good dancer?”
“In my way.”
Our elevated table was right in front of us.
I did a quick count of everyone as they turned our way and whispered to each other.
At least fifty couples are in here, not including their men standing along the walls.
Most of the men had exquisite women sitting next to them, dripping in diamonds. Scars marred a few faces. Old age covered others. There looked to be a few handsome men among the space, but not enough to challenge Kazimir’s good looks. Tattoos peeked behind ears and on some necks, but I couldn’t see anymore.
In the Bratva, a tattoo was a person’s resume. How I wished I could see their tattoos before learning their names. There, I could discover if they were good or bad. Pedophiles or an average thief.
While the women seemed to admire my dress and even gaze longingly at Kazimir a few times, several men scowled at me. However, they made sure to do it when Kazimir’s attention fell on me.
It could have been insecurity, but I was getting the vibe that many in the room weren’t excited to see me. While these men probably didn’t hold cheery smiles on their faces, none had looked the least bit pleased when I walked in with Kazimir.
Hmmm. I wish I had my gun. Wait. This is my...house. I have guns all over here...and men.
I checked the space and found my main man, Yuri, dancing by the band.
Where’s Boris?
I glanced over my shoulder, didn’t spot him, and gave up searching for him.
“Don’t worry.” Kazimir guided me to the center.
“This is a lot.”
“It’s just a little gathering.”
We walked over to our glowing names. My glitter gown trailed us.
“Let’s begin.” He guided me to the main table. The set up was interesting. Three other couples sat there.
These must be the other three candidates.
Two empty seats were right in the center. Kazimir took us to those and pulled my chair out.
I sat down. One couple was on my right. Kazimir was on my left along with the other two couples. The man on Kaz’s left grabbed his attention.
I cleared my throat and looked forward, wondering if I could catch sight of Boris or Yuri. This level of partying would be new to them too. They would need to stay focused and not get in any trouble.
The man on my right spoke and extended his hand my way. “Nice to meet you, Emily, or can I call you mouse?”
His accent was heavy, but I didn’t get a Russian tone. He was from somewhere else.
I studied him. He resembled a professor more than Russian mafia. Tortoise shell glasses. Classic leather watch. No diamonds or gold. I didn’t see any tattoos peeking up from the simple tux and bow tie.
“I’m sorry.” I took his hand and lightly shook. “Only Kazimir can call me mouse, but Emily is fine.”
He frowned for a few seconds but returned to smiling. “I’m Zahkar, and this is my wife, Anja.”
Anja leaned my way, gave a weak smile, lifted her wine, and looked away.
O-kay. Guess Anja and I won’t be talking.
I made note of her features—blonde hair, blue eyes, red dress. Bored as fuck expression.
Zahkar continued the conversation. “They said you were from America. I can hear it in your words.”
Intrigued, I asked, “Do Americans speak weird to you?”
“Oh yes. They sound evil. American p’s are too soft for me.”
“You prefer the harsh r’s?”
“I do.”
“Still.” I smiled. “American accents are evil? I’ve heard the same response from an American listening to a Russian.”