Page 20

O livia

I t’s kind of vain to look at yourself in the mirror and think, damn, that’s hot , but I can’t deny the truth.

My body is outrageously sinful in this dress.

I can’t decide if Piotr’s going to love or hate it.

Will he be mad about me for showing so much leg in front of his business associates or will he preen with pride that his wife has made this effort to look good for him?

I’m slightly worried it will be the former.

He told me off for not covering my legs properly once before.

I dismiss my anxieties about how my husband will react. He told me to wear something stunning, and mission accomplished. I feel incredible and if he doesn’t like it, he’ll just have to learn to be careful what he asks for.

As I fasten the diamond teardrop earrings I treated myself to with my own money, I can’t help smiling. Today was so much fun. I love the energy in Paris. People are in less of a hurry than they are in New York, but they’re not as laid back as the residents of Florence or Rome.

The atmosphere around the Eiffel Tower was buzzing. Jimmy, Marko, and Vlad were freaked out by the crowd size at first, but they soon calmed down when they realized we were surrounded by tourists and not potential assassins.

I enjoyed the bustle and the chaos around the Arc de Triomphe, even if the traffic around the monument scared the living daylights out of me.

At one point, I thought Vlad was going to leap out of the car to fight a little old lady who cut us off in her battered Citroen and then cursed him out.

If I’m honest, I think she’d have kicked his ass.

Shopping at the Galleries Lafayette was an amazing experience. I’ve shopped in some beautiful places, but that beat them all. I bought my outfit for tonight and got gifts to take home to my sisters-in-law.

The highlight of my day, however, was sitting in Angelina’s watching Jimmy and Marko stirring whipped cream into their hot chocolate.

Neither of them wanted to join me for the delicious treat, but I insisted.

Jimmy took little persuading, partly because he has a sweet tooth, but mainly because he hates to refuse me anything unless it puts me in danger.

Marko was harder to convince, but in the end I think he was afraid I’d run crying to Piotr about what an awful man he was if he didn’t do as I said.

Both men enjoyed their drinks and the dainty cakes I ordered, no matter how much they pretended eating them was a chore.

Vlad remained outside, leaning against the car and watching everyone who walked by with suspicion.

The terrifying bodyguard barely spoke to me all day, but he cracked a smile when I took a doggy bag with some eclairs out to him.

From that point on, he was friendlier to me, so I guess it’s true that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

I wonder what I could feed Piotr to make him like me more.

I check myself in the mirror one more time and grin.

The dress I chose for tonight makes a bold statement.

A vibrant shade of red, it hugs my curves scandalously.

One good sneeze would probably burst its seams. The daringly short length is made up for by a more modest neckline and full sleeves.

My black leather ankle boots have insanely high heels and sharply pointed toes.

I could probably maim someone with them if I wanted to.

My makeup is flawless. I went for dark, smoky eyes and lipstick that matches my dress. I leave my hair down in loose waves because I prefer it that way. It looks effortless, but took me the better part of an hour to perfect.

When I feel ready to make my entrance, I head upstairs with Jimmy and Marko training behind me.

It seems like a waste of manpower to have both of them accompanying me up a single flight of stairs in a Bratva-owned building, but they have their orders.

As much as being shadowed wherever I go pisses me off, I won’t make the men responsible for my safety feel bad for doing their job.

There’s only one apartment on the top floor of the building. I ring the doorbell and wait. A few seconds elapse before a tall, thin man answers. He peers down his crooked nose at me and his lips purse in distaste. “And you are?”

“Olivia Rezanova.” It feels odd to say the name, but I love how it sounds. I hold out my hand for him to shake.

“I am Jacques.” He glares at my offered hand until I drop it to my side. “Please follow me.”

I turn to Jimmy and Marko. “You guys can head off now.”

Jimmy nods politely. “Have a great evening, ma’am.” His sudden deference is no doubt a response to the French asshole looking at me like something that was scraped off the sidewalk.

“Thank you, James.” I flash him a grin. “Marko.”

Now that I’m safely delivered, they can head off for the night. Perhaps Marko will take Jimmy out and show him some of the sights of Paris he wouldn’t dare take a Pakhan’s wife to. Jimmy deserves a little fun.

I follow Jacques along a wide corridor. Its cream-painted walls are lined with art.

Sev’s clearly a fan of the Impressionists, or perhaps his decorator is.

There are several very nice reproductions on display.

At least, I hope they’re copies because I’m pretty sure the originals are supposed to be in the Musée d’Orsay.

Jacques opens a door and ushers me into a large room with several large white sofas and a massive fireplace with a marble surround. There’s a magnificent gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room.

“Mrs. Piotr Reznov.” Jacques’ booming announcement is overkill, since there are only two people in the room. I grimace at the way he stripped away my identity, reducing me to the role of Piotr’s wife.

As he backs out of the room, a heavily pregnant woman hauls herself up from a sofa and comes to greet me, surprisingly graceful despite the massive bulge of her belly.

“Ignore that pompous ass.” The pretty brunette smiles broadly as a large, tattooed beast of a man saunters over to join us. “I’m Evie Lenkova and this is Nikolai Morozov.”

“Olivia Rezanova.” I return her smile and admire her bravery in wearing four-inch heels when it looks like she could give birth at any moment.

“I know. I’ve been dying to meet you.” Evie sounds genuinely thrilled. “It’s good to have another Bratva bride to talk to.”

Bratva bride ? Ugh. I hope we’re not calling ourselves that.

“You’re Daniil Lenkov’s wife?” I check. My knowledge of the European families isn’t as extensive as I’d like, considering Piotr mingles with them as much as he does with the Americans.

“That’s right, and Niko is Mila’s husband.”

My eyes widen. “You’re Mila Lenkova’s husband?”

“ Da. ” His broad grin tells me he enjoyed my awestruck reaction.

His wife is someone I’ve heard a lot about.

Notorious for her exploits, she’s like the monster under the bed for a lot of Mafia men.

Whether or not it’s true that she has a habit of slicing the dicks off men who upset her, people believe it and they’re scared to cross her.

“You will meet her when their business is concluded.”

“Oh, she’s in the meeting with Piotr?”

“Of course,” Niko says.

“And you’re not?”

Niko shakes his head. “I leave that side of things to my wife.”

Even knowing Mila’s reputation, I’m amazed she’s involved in the business meeting while her husband isn’t. It’s unheard of in our sexist world. Perhaps Piotr’s associates are more enlightened. “Who else is in the meeting?”

“Uh, your cousins,” Evie tells me.

She’s undoubtedly referring to Damiano and Lorenzo. I know they do a lot of business with Piotr. That instantly dispels my hopes that this group is open-minded about women’s capabilities. My cousins are chauvinist pigs.

“Sev Baranov is there,” Evie continues. “Then there’s Joe Dalgleish and Niamh Donnelly.”

I’ve heard that name before. Niamh Donnelly is renowned for her skills at bringing people together and making deals happen. If they’re working with her, perhaps my cousins are only sexist assholes with family.

“Who’s Joe Dalgleish?” He’s the only one of the group I’m not familiar with.

“He’s part of the Dalgleish dynasty.” Evie smiles as she notes my blank expression. “They’re based in Edinburgh and London, but I guess they’re not that well known outside of Europe. Joe’s father was an advisor to the late queen. His oldest brother is tapped to become the next prime minister.”

“Of France?” I realize it’s a stupid question the minute I ask it. Evie mentioned the queen and that the family has homes in both Scotland and England.

“The U.K.,” Evie says. If she thinks I’m a complete moron, she doesn’t show it.

I swallow hard as I think about the people I’m going to sit down to dinner with tonight. They’re all highly accomplished. Even Damiano and Lorenzo have impressive resumes. I wish Piotr had warned me who I’d be meeting here.

“Don’t worry.” Evie must pick up on my anxiety. “Everyone’s really friendly once you get to know them.” She elbows Niko. “Go get Olivia a drink, will you? That stuck-up butler of Sev’s isn’t going to offer.”

“Of course.” Despite looking like the sort of man who’d rip his enemies’ heads off with his bare hands, Niko smiles fondly at his sister-in-law. “What can I get you, Olivia?”

“I’ll take a vodka, please. Neat.” It’s not what I’d usually go for, but this feels like the right moment to try Piotr’s favorite drink.

Niko nods approvingly, then leaves the room. Evie steers me over to one of the sleek white sofas and we sit.

“You’ll do great, Olivia.” Evie’s kind to soothe my fears, which I wish I was doing a better job of hiding. This is so unlike me. I attend dozens of social events every year. Usually, people are nervous about meeting me.

“I don’t want to let Piotr down,” I admit.

“I was afraid of disappointing Daniil at first. I didn’t know how to behave around his business partners. At least you were born into this life.”