Chapter 23

I guide Rowan away, my hand still at the small of her back. The silk of her dress is warm beneath my palm.

“Was that okay?” she whispers once we’re out of earshot. “I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“You were perfect,” I tell her. “Grigor Petrov is an important business associate. His approval matters.”

“He seemed to like me.”

“He did. Too much, maybe.” The possessive edge in my voice surprises even me.

Her eyes widen as she reads into my reaction for all the wrong reasons. “Is he dangerous?”

I laugh softly. “Everyone here is dangerous in their own way, Rowan. That’s the first lesson you need to learn.”

I lead her through the crowd, nodding at acquaintances, stopping occasionally to exchange pleasantries. I introduce her to each person we meet—some legitimate businesspeople, others with connections to my world that she couldn’t begin to imagine.

She handles each introduction flawlessly. Takes mental notes, as instructed. Smiles at the right moments. Speaks when spoken to, but never overreaches.

It’s like watching a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis.

“You’re a natural at this,” I tell her as we make our way toward the bar.

“I’m just following your lead,” she demurs.

“No. You’re adapting. Learning. Most people can’t do that so quickly.”

Her smile is genuine this time. “Thank you.”

I order us fresh drinks, studying her profile as she surveys the room. She has a nervous habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when she’s thinking.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

“I’m trying to make sense of it all,” she admits. “Who knows who. Who matters to you.”

“And?”

“And I think I’m starting to see patterns.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Such as?”

She leans closer, her voice dropping. “The Russians cluster together. The Japanese and Koreans stay on opposite sides of the room. The Italians by the far wall keep watching you whenever they think you’re not looking.”

My pulse quickens. She’s observant. Dangerously so.

“Go on,” I encourage.

“The man in the gray suit by the auction table—he’s been talking to the police commissioner all evening, even though they’re pretending not to know each other.”

I smile, impressed despite myself. “Very good. What else?”

She turns to face me fully, those green eyes bright with intelligence. “Everyone here treats you with respect. Some with fear. But all of them want something from you.”

“Including you?”

The air between us crackles with tension. I step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. All the thoughts that have been occupying my head since the moment Rowan stepped into my car at the beginning of the evening reach a fever pitch. I’m throbbing with hot blood, this insatiable desire to sweep all the glassware of the nearest table and replace it with Rowan.

I can already see where I’d grab hold of that green gown. It’d rip right down the middle, parting her for me like a fucking flower. And in the middle, brimming with nectar⁠—

“Vincent.”

A hand claps my shoulder. I turn, irritated by the interruption.

Andrei Akopov stands there, resplendent in his tuxedo, silver hair slicked back as always, eyes sharp as ever.

“Father,” I greet him, automatically straightening my posture. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Clearly,” he says dryly, his gaze moving to Rowan. “And who is this lovely creature?”

I make the introduction, watching as my father takes Rowan’s measure with a single glance.

“My new executive assistant,” I explain.

“Executive assistant,” he repeats. “How… convenient.”

Rowan extends her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Akopov. Your son speaks very highly of you.”

A lie, but a good one. My father almost smiles as he shakes her hand.

“Does he now? How refreshing.” He turns back to me. “Vincent, a word in private?”

I nod to Rowan. “Wait for me here. I won’t be long.”

“Of course,” she says. Her perfect professionalism masks whatever she might be feeling.

I follow my father to a quiet corner of the ballroom. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Is this the one you mentioned? The solution to your marriage problem?”

I keep my face neutral. “Perhaps.”

“A secretary?” His disgust is palpable. “You could have any woman from any family. The Petrovs. The Kuznetsovs. Women raised in our world, who understand what it means to be Bratva. And you choose⁠—”

“Times change, Father. Old alliances aren’t the only path to power.”

He scoffs. “She’s nothing. A nobody.”

“She’s what I want.” The words come out before I can stop them.

My father’s eyes narrow. “Be careful, Vincent. Want is a dangerous thing in our world. I taught you better than that.”

“You taught me to recognize value where others don’t look,” I counter. “To see opportunities where others see obstacles.”

He studies me for a long moment, then glances back at Rowan, who stands alone at the bar, her posture straight, her eyes scanning the room like she’s memorizing faces.

“She’s pretty, I’ll grant you that,” he finally says. “But pretty fades. Loyalty is what lasts.”

“I’m working on that part,” I tell him.

He sighs heavily. “Don’t make me regret giving you control, son. Some mistakes can’t be undone.”

With that warning, he walks away, leaving me to consider his words.

I turn back to look at Rowan, catching her eye across the crowded room. She smiles, tentative but genuine, and something unnamed shifts inside me.

My father is right about one thing: wanting is dangerous.

But so am I.