Page 45 of Royal Bargain

“Everyone’s acting like the city’s on the mend, but if that monster gets out…” One of the men trails off, his expression grim.

My ears are ringing.

It’s been too quiet lately. No new moves from the Russians. No retaliation. No suspicious fires. Just… nothing.

And now I know why.

Volkov’s planning his next play—and if he beats those charges, it it’ll be a full-scale reckoning. For Ana. For Lily. For all of us.

I’m about to head back to Burns’s side when I catch movement near one of the ballroom’s darker corners. Not a waiter. Not a donor. Someone standing too still, too quiet—half-shadowed beneath an archway, watching the room like he’s casing it.

My stomach drops.

I cut across the floor without thinking, weaving between tuxedos and gowns, not caring that I’m probably drawing attention now. Shane’s not far, but I gesture for him to stay back. I need eyes on Ana, just in case.

When I get closer, the figure straightens and steps forward into the light.

Of course.

“Aleksey,” I grit out, barely containing the snarl in my voice.

He looks just as I remember—cold eyes, stiff posture, dressed to blend in but never quite able to hide that coiled, soldier’s stillness. Like he’s waiting for a fight.

He doesn’t offer a greeting. Just says, “I came to check on her.”

“You don’t get to do that,” I snap, voice low and sharp. “You don’t get to be here.”

“We fought,” he says, jaw tight. “I wanted to make sure she was alright. That’s all.”

“You show your face at a public gala filled with political donors and press just to ‘check on her’? Try again.”

His lips twitch, like he’s trying not to rise to the bait. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone used a gala to do more than mingle.”

I step in close, close enough that I can feel the tension between us like static. “Say the word and I’ll have you dragged out of here. You don’t belong on this side of the city.”

“I didn’t come for trouble,” he says. Then, softly, like it’s an afterthought—“Though I could help you. If I wanted to.”

I blink. “What the hell does that mean?”

He shrugs, voice casual, but every word deliberate. “If Burns wants the Russian vote, someone’s going to have to broker that deal. You’re not exactly on speaking terms with my side of the fence.”

I narrow my eyes. “You think I’d trust you to do that?”

“No,” Aleksey says, almost smiling. “But I thought she might.”

That does it.

I grab his lapel, yanking him close enough that our foreheads almost knock. “You’re done here.”

Aleksey doesn’t resist. Just holds my gaze like he’s already several moves ahead on the board.

“I’ll go,” he says simply. “But think about it, Brannagan. You want to keep her safe? You’ll need more than charm and campaign flyers.”

I shove him back. “Get out.”

He adjusts his cuffs like nothing happened, gives me one last unreadable look, and disappears through the side door like he was never here.

I exhale shakily, pulse still pounding.