Page 37

37

DMITRI

N o response from Tash in three days, despite the gifts. The roses. The orchids. The Cartier. Even that first edition art book she'd mentioned wanting months ago.

"You look like shit," Nikolai says from my office doorway.

"Thanks for that assessment." I wave him in, needing his counsel even if I hate admitting it. "The gifts aren't working."

"Of course they're not. You imprisoned Katarina. Tash needs more than material things to trust you again. That one act broke down everything she knew about you, and she thinks you're a monster."

"Perhaps I am." I run a hand through my hair. "I'm planning something. A series of moments to show her who I am. Not just the monster who takes hostages."

"Do tell." Nikolai settles into the chair across from me.

"First, I'll have the museum close early. Fill the Egyptian wing with candles and all her favorite exhibits.I'll tell her everything. Show her the man beneath the mask."

"How disgustingly romantic." Alexi's voice cuts in as he and Erik enter uninvited. "Are you going to read her poetry too?"

"Fuck off," I growl, but there's no real heat behind it.

Erik smirks. "Never thought I'd see the day. The great Dmitri Ivanov, planning candlelit confessions."

"At least I'm doing something about it," I shoot back, thinking of his situation with Katarina.

"He's got you there," Alexi laughs, dodging Erik's half-hearted punch.

"The point is," Nikolai interrupts, "you need to be genuine. No games, no manipulation."

I nod, already mapping out the next steps in my head. "I know. I'll show her everything, the good and the ugly. Let her decide if she can accept both."

"Ten bucks says he cries during his confession," Alexi stage-whispers to Erik.

"Twenty says Tash makes him grovel first," Erik counters.

I grab the nearest object, a paperweight, and chuck it in their direction. "Out. Both of you." The act only makes my chest ache, as I remember when my kulkolka threw one at me.

Their laughter echoes down the hall as they retreat, leaving me with Nikolai's knowing look.

"You love her, don't you?" he asks quietly.

I don't answer Nikolai's question. I don't need to. I’ve already admitted it once in the throes of fear for her safety. The way my hands clench on the desk says enough.

"How do you plan to get her there?" Nikolai asks, leaning forward. "She won't even take your calls."

"Sofia." I tap my phone. "She's the only one Tash still talks to. And since Sofia's married to you..."

"Using my wife now?" His lips quirk. "Bold move."

"I'm out of options." The admission burns. I, Dmitri Ivanov, am reduced to begging favors through intermediaries. "Sofia understands what's at stake. She knows I never meant for Tash to get hurt."

"And if Sofia refuses?"

"She won't." I hold his gaze. "Because, unlike me, she gets to talk to Tash. She sees how miserable she is. How this distance is eating at her, too."

Nikolai's expression softens marginally. "You're sure about this? Laying everything bare?"

"What choice do I have?" I spread my hands. "She deserves the truth. All of it. Even the parts that might make her run."

"Especially those parts," Nikolai agrees. "I'll talk to Sofia tonight. But Dmitri?" He stands, straightening his jacket. "If you fuck this up again..."

"I know." My voice is rough. "I won't."

Nikolai walks out, leaving me to my work.

I shut down my computer and grab my coat, unable to sit still. The parking garage is empty except for my Mercedes and other executive vehicles.

Akim opens the driver's door, but I wave him off. "I'll drive myself."

His eyebrows lift slightly. I rarely drive myself, but he nods and steps back. I need the control right now. I need to feel like I'm doing something besides sitting in my office planning grand gestures.

I know Tash's schedule by heart. Thursday nights are her standing dinner date with Sofia at Le Petit Bistro. My security team keeps me updated on her movements, but lately, I have preferred to see for myself.

The restaurant's warm lights spill onto the sidewalk as I park across the street. I choose a spot with a clear view of their usual table by the window. Right on schedule, Sofia's car pulls up, and Tash steps out.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. She's wearing the black vintage Chanel dress I love that shows off her legs. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and even from here, I can see the shadows under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide.

She's hurting, too. The knowledge twists in my chest.

I watch her and Sofia sit, my kulkolka's back to the window. Perfect. I exit my car and slip into the restaurant, choosing a corner booth to observe without being seen.

Tash's laugh carries across the room, but it sounds hollow and forced. Sofia is animated, gesturing as she talks, but I can see the tension in Natasha's shoulders as she keeps checking her phone.

Is she looking for messages from me?

I order a scotch when it becomes clear they're settling in for a long dinner. I shouldn't be here or watching her like this, but I can't help myself. I need to see her, even if only from afar.

I wait until they finish their meal, then time my exit to coincide with theirs. Sofia sees me first, her eyes widening before she makes a quick excuse and heads to her car.

Tash turns and freezes when she spots me. The light from the restaurant catches the gold flecks in her eyes, but her face falls, closing off.

"How have you been?" I keep my voice soft, battling the impulse to reach for her.

"Fine." She clutches her purse tighter, taking a step back. "I need to go."

"Tash, please." I move closer, careful not to crowd her. "Just talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." Her voice wavers. "I learned who you were in that warehouse."

"That's not—" I reach for her arm, but she jerks away.

"Don't." Her eyes flash with anger and hurt. "I'm leaving. Now."

"Five minutes. That's all I'm asking for."

"I said no." She backs away. "Stay away from me, Dmitri. I mean it."

I could stop her and prevent her from walking away. But that would only prove I'm exactly the monster she thinks I am. So I watch her go, each step feeling like a knife in my chest.