well,” I whisper, leaning close and pressing my mouth to Elena’s ear. She’s as stiff as a plank under my hand, which is rested lightly on her lower back. “Relax.”
We’re led into a large living room decorated with so much gilt and gold it almost hurts my eyes. The vintage furniture has clawed feet, and strategically-placed mirrors reflect the light of a crystal chandelier. Panoramic windows give us a stunning view of the city below.
I spot Oleg sitting on a couch beside the woman he wants me to marry—his daughter, Nataly. His other two daughters are seated throughout the room, laughing and swinging their hair and making themselves as attractive to the men in the room as possible. Oleg’s sons stand together near the piano, whispering to each other and watching us. More of the bratva and their women are scattered around, dressed to the nines and watching me and my men with sharp eyes. A few gazes linger on Elena, making me move my hand to the curve of her waist and squeeze, pulling her closer.
“Diego,” Oleg says, coming to his feet to greet me. He’s staring at Elena with a frown, his eyes hard and unreadable. “Finally, a meeting of our families, and the beginning of a successful partnership … I hope.”
“Likewise,” I reply, pretending not to notice how annoyed he seems by Elena’s presence. “Oleg, I want to introduce you to someone. This is Elena Aguilar. Baby, this is Oleg. He was a close friend of my father’s.”
Elena flashes her smile again and takes the hand Oleg offers out of grudging respect for tradition. He won’t be overtly rude to her, but I know he’s wishing Elena a hundred miles from here.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Elena says, honey dripping of every word. “Diego talks about you all the time.”
“All good things, I hope?” Oleg says, returning her smile. Apparently, he isn’t immune to Elena’s charm.
“Nothing but good things,” Elena assures him. “Thank you so much for having us this evening.”
The emphasis she puts on the word ‘us’ makes Oleg’s left eye twitch. Otherwise, he’s a fortress, not letting any of his thoughts show. All I can do is uphold this charade and hope for the best.
“I would like to introduce you to my family,” Oleg says, patting Elena’s hand. As if by magic, Oleg’s children appear on either side of him. “You have already met my lovely wife. These are my sons, Viktor and Mikhail. This is my eldest daughter, Irina, and the second-eldest, Lada.”
Reaching for the hand of his youngest daughter, Oleg helps her stand, presenting her as if she’s a prized pony. “And this is the youngest of my children, Nataly.”
Elena and Nataly take each other’s measure, and it’s impossible not to compare them. Nataly is as beautiful as I remember, with her mother’s milky skin and pale blue eyes. The white-blonde shade of her hair is natural, and her features remind me of a porcelain doll. She’s wearing a baby blue dress with thin straps, the silky fabric clinging to a sinfully curvy body. The neckline is modest, her nails painted clear and neatly trimmed, her jewelry understated.
She’s as near to perfect as any person can get, and still she doesn’t measure up to Elena. Her beauty is frigid and her perfection is off-putting. Elena’s very real and striking features are more appealing—and so is the thought of having her naked and at my mercy. Nataly would probably have a heart attack if I tried any of the things I’ve been fantasizing about doing to Elena.
Not to mention Nataly’s as bland as a piece of dry toast, completely devoid of any personality beyond what finishing school has instilled in her.
“Good evening,” Nataly says, shaking Elena’s hand before turning to me. She looks like a hopeful little girl, wishing for the sweets in a candy store. “Diego … it’s wonderful to see you again. I was very happy to hear you would be present tonight.”
I can’t refuse when she takes my shoulders to kiss my cheek three times, or when she stands far closer than what’s usually appropriate.
“You look lovely,” I tell her as an afterthought. I don’t want to be too nice and lead her on, but it’s a fine line. I can’t risk being rude and angering Oleg.
Her cheeks flush and she flutters her eyelashes. “Thank you. Father, can I show him the new Barcelo?”
Oleg gives her a smile filled with affection and indulgence. “Of course, moy sladkiy. Diego is a