drive, then out through the gates. Nessa sits up a little taller, forehead pressed against the window so she can look out.
It’s been a long time since she was in a car. A long time since she saw anything besides the house and grounds. I can see her excitement at the streets and buildings, the people on the sidewalks, the vendors on the corners.
The windows are heavily tinted. Nobody can see in. Still, I feel anxious taking her out of the house. It’s like releasing a songbird from its cage—if anything goes wrong, she’ll fly away.
We drive a short way south to Lincoln Park, where Kolya Kristoff has his house. It’s a sprawling compound, newly built and wildly modern. The main house looks like a lot of glass boxes stacked on top of each other. It seems like a terrible set-up, from a security standpoint. But Kristoff is flamboyant like that. He likes to show off, from his Maserati to his Zegna suits.
The interior is just as impractical. There’s an artificial river running through the entryway floor, beneath a chandelier made of rotating orbs, like a solar system.
When Kristoff comes to greet us, he’s wearing a velvet smoking jacket and tasseled loafers. I want to cancel the alliance right now, just based off the fact that I don’t want to do business with someone who thinks he’s Hugh Hefner reincarnated.
I’m edgy and irritable, and we haven’t even started.
It doesn’t help that the first thing Kristoff does is walk around Nessa like she’s a sculpture on a plinth, his eyes roaming over every inch of her.
“My god, what a specimen,” he says. “What have you been doing to her, Mikolaj? You kidnapped a girl and turned her into a goddess.”
Nessa’s eyes dart between us, her cheeks tinged with that hint of pink that I know so well. She doesn’t like this kind of attention, and she’s looking to me for protection.
“She’s the same as she always was,” I snap.
I wish Klara hadn’t dolled her up so much. I told her to make Nessa presentable, not to turn her into Princess Grace.
“I thought we Russians had the most beautiful women.” Kristoff grins. “I guess I haven’t sampled enough variety . . .”
Nessa is edging closer to me, away from Kristoff.
“Do the Irish train them, though?” Kristoff says, raising his dark eyebrows. “Russian girls learn to suck cock better than a porn star. They can blow you in the time it takes a kettle to boil. What do you say, Mikolaj . . . how does she compare?”
If Kristoff keeps talking, I’m going to rip his vocal cords out of his throat and strangle him with them.
Nessa looks close to tears. My stomach is clenched up to the size of a walnut.
There’s no good answer here. If I tell Kristoff I haven’t fucked her, he won’t believe me. If he knew the truth, it would be even worse. Nothing could be more dangerous to Nessa than the Bratva boss knowing that he has the beautiful, virginal daughter of his rival in his house.
“She wouldn’t interest you,” I say shortly. “No skills at all.”
Nessa turns those big green eyes on me, stricken and hurt.
I can’t look at her. I can’t even give her the smallest sign of sympathy.
Instead, I say, “Let’s get to it, already. I haven’t got all night.”
“Of course,” Kristoff grins.
He leads us into his formal dining room, where the table is piled with food. Kristoff sits on one side of the table, along with three of his top lieutenants. I sit on the other, with Nessa right beside me and Jonas and Marcel on either end.
Nessa is pale and silent, unwilling to touch her food.
“What’s wrong?” Kristoff says. “You don’t like pelmeni?”
“You know dancers,” I tell him. “They don’t eat.”
Nessa reminds me of Persephone, kidnapped by Hades and forced to reign as queen of the dead. Persephone tried so hard not to eat Hades’ food, so that one day she could return to the sunlit realms.
But Nessa has already eaten my food. Just like Persephone, who grew so hungry that she lost her resolve, consuming six tiny pomegranate seeds.
Kristoff looks offended. Russians are very sensitive about their dishes. Luckily, Jonas and Marcel are shoveling enough food into their mouths to make up for it.
“Davayte pristupim k delu,” I say. Let’s get down to business.
Kristoff is surprised I’m speaking Russian. I know it perfectly well, but I usually refuse to speak it to him. English is our lingua franca. However, I don’t