Page 21 of Lord of Passion

Her hair is shining, tumbling over her shoulders in loose waves, and she's wearing an elegant dress with two dainty straps, going over her shoulders to crisscross elaborately over her back. She looks delicious. She looks far too good for the likes of Sergei.

Was that sleazy prick planning to take her out to dinner?

Gesturing to one of my guards, I murmur, "Go break into one of the unoccupied suites and start smashing a few things up. Then call in a noise complaint as another guest."

He looks at me, his forehead furrowed as I instruct him to trash a Morozov property. But only for a moment before he nods and heads off. I've instructed my security to perform far more inexplicable activities than this. They know better than to ask.

In a couple of minutes, Sergei is approached by an anxious front desk clerk, wringing her hands. He frowns, leaving quickly after saying goodbye to Caroline. She's standing by the door, checking messages on her phone as my group walks toward the entrance.

I step behind her. Closely. "Don't you think it's unprofessional for you to be going to dinner with another Morozov employee?"

"Well, hello to you too," she says, putting her phone away. Her dress is dark green and lightens her eyes. I don't know why I'm bothering to notice. "Do you really think it's any of your concern whether two professionals share a dinner - as colleagues - to exchange trade information?" she says acidly, folding her arms.

"This isn't a sex trip for you, Caroline," I say, and immediately regret it when she laughs.

"Oh, getoveryourself. You've been using my hotel as a fuck palace for how many –"

"I was not using it as a fuck palace, and my personal activities in the hotel are none of your concern. I am theSovietnik-"

"I don't care as long as you're not causing extra work for my people. In fact…" She turned to face me, fully. "Despite your extremely elaborate setup with those two gorgeous blondes, Housekeeping told me that you didn't even mess up the bed. That was all for show, wasn't it?"

I lean closer with a nasty grin. "What makes you think we used the bed?"

Her eyes are blazing with fury as Volkov chooses that moment to join us.

"And who is this?" he asks cheerfully, looking between us. "A new friend?"

Shoving down my frustration, I introduce them. "Viktor Velkov, this is the GM of our newest hotel, Lyric in New York City, and also a close cousin to Alexey's new wife, Liria."

His ruddy face lights up with recognition and he beams, shaking her hand. "I have heard of your hotel," he says. "I'm looking forward to staying there when I travel to New York next. I'm a bit of a musician, you see," he says, putting his hand on his chest and bowing slightly.

Caroline's smile is slightly warmer than her professional one, the irritation vanishes instantly from her face. "It would be an honor to have you stay with us, Viktor Volkov." She turns to Polina with an expectant smile and Volkov happily introduces her.

I check the time. "Well, we must be off, our table is waiting." I smile at the Volkovs. "Shall we go? I have taken the entire restaurant for us tonight. It's one of my favorites,Imperatritsa."

It's a rooftop restaurant in one of the older, grandly renovated mansions here in Moscow. It's warm for a late autumn Moscow night. And I know they serve twenty-seven different kinds of gourmet caviar, including all of Volkov's favorites.

And I will finally get away from Caroline before I can pick another fight.

Chapter Ten

In which vodka and business dinners can have unanticipated consequences. That happens a lot with vodka.

Caroline…

"Your beautiful friend must join us for dinner," Volkov says, to an appalled Nikandr. Volkov's face flushed with too much vodka and good humor, and I kind of like him.

However, I instantly reply, "He's not my friend. I'm here on a business trip." Volkov stares at me. "For research," I try to clarify, but by then his wife has already linked her arm through mine, and she's dragging me into the restaurant. Glancing at a deeply amused Nikandr tells me there will be no help coming from that direction.

It's an interesting mix of young and old at the round table in the restaurant, and made up mostly of men. They are clearly all Bratva, though I'm surprised to find that I have met a couple of them before as VIP guests at the Hotel Lyric. I knew they were Russian. I just didn't know they werethatkind of Russian. My crime lord radar is slipping.

There's a lot of laughter and good stories about travel mishaps. Nikandr and two of the men are a bit deeper into conversation at the other end of the table. Polina lifts her glass of wine, tapping it against mine. "I am not forced to drink vodka tonight,slava bogu, thank god," she whispers, just the two of us. "I feel ridiculous asking for wine when all the others order vodka."

"My friend, I will totally jump on the wine train with you anytime," I assure her. "Let them deal with their crushing vodka hangovers the next day. I actually don't mind a glass of vodka but eventually, you can smell it coming out of yourpores,you know?"

She laughs, hiding her mouth behind her hand when her husband looks up. "I fear if they knew how much I despised vodka they would take my Russian card," she says. "I would be forced to relocate to some gentle country where only wine is acceptable."

I pour each of us another glass. "That's not a bad idea, Polina. Italy, for instance, is beautiful at any time of the year. You buy yourself a nice vineyard with a big stone house…"