Page 57

MIA

Fifteen minutes into the event, I lose sight of Yulian.

It’s not my fault. Or, well—it’s not completely my fault. It’s just that there are so many donors, all elbowing each other for a word with the head honcho, and at one point, his suit melts into the sea of white shirts and black ties.

Seeing as StarTech’s rooftop is practically a small European village, finding my way back to him soon proves to be more than my Louboutins can handle.

But there’s another reason I don’t mingle again. Another reason I keep myself on the edge of it all, elbows against the railing, eyes vigilant, scanning every face I see.

Because I’m afraid the next will be Brad’s.

It isn’t unthinkable. He’s already snuck in once. He could do it again.

“Fancy a tart?”

I nearly jump. I’m so nervous, I didn’t even notice anyone approach. “What?”

“Tarts.” The woman who just spoke holds up a perfect circle of puff pastry with a fat, round shrimp curled in its center. “I’m kind of off solids for now. Doctor’s orders, apparently.”

Finally, the dots connect.

Green almond eyes. Porcelain skin. Black hair cropped into a short, homemade pixie cut, something that looks like the lovechild of kitchen scissors and a stolen electric razor, but somehow still manages to give off a stylish vibe.

And a black dress that’s practically hanging off her too-thin figure.

“Relax, malyshka .” Nikita winks. “I left my knives at coat check.”

“That’s… good?”

“I’d hope so. Unless they’re serving steak, in which case, it might prove to be a colossal lapse in judgment.” She waves the pastry in my face again. “Anyway, tart?”

I want to say no, but that’s when my stomach decides to chip in with a growl.

Nikita looks encouraged. “It’s got a cute little shrimp in it,” she says, like she’s trying to convince a little kid to eat her veggies. “C’mon. Take it off my hands. You don’t want me to break my liquid diet and choke, do you?”

It’s a pretty persuasive argument.

I take the pastry. It’s savory, with a crunchy and airy texture that you really can’t get out of store-bought dough. Not for the first time, I realize how filthy rich Yulian is. This single appetizer is probably worth more than a full day’s pay at the hospital, isn’t it?

Not that I’m gonna go back there any time soon.

“Good, right?” Nikita sighs wistfully. “I used to crash these charity things all the time. The open bar is to die for.” She shoots a mournful glance at the waiters carrying trays of delicacies all over the rooftop. “Too bad I missed your presentation dinner. I heard the chef went all out.”

It strikes me as odd, how easygoing she’s being.

Last night, she was practically feral. Dosed to hell and back, unable to stand, to focus her gaze beyond the knife in her hands.

She’s wearing makeup today, but I can still see the faint shadow of the dark circles under her eyes.

God only knows what she went through to earn those.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” I ask, suddenly filled with concern. “Being here? Walking around?”

“Yeah, so long as I sit down every now and then.” She gives a careless shrug, like her brush with death is not that big a deal. “Yuli threatened me with crutches, but I told him where I’d shove ‘em if he bought a pair.”

Yuli. Such a familiar form of address. It fills my heart with ache all at once, dull and throbbing like a bad tooth.

Only, I’m not quite certain I’ll be able to rip this one out.

“Not a fan of walking aids?”

“Only when they come in hospital gray.” She makes a gagging motion. “One word: barf. ”

Somehow, I’m not surprised. Her outfit may be a little ill-fitting, but it’s curated down to the last detail: black dress, black boots, black studs. A black belt cinched tight around her waist, looking to disguise how loosely her dress hangs. Not a drop of color breaks the pattern.

My gaze wanders to her arms. Black tattoos snake up from her wrists to her shoulders. They’re different from the ones on Yulian’s chest, but they carry the same aura, the same weight of meaning and purpose.

And danger, too.

She was born into his world, I realize. She was born to be Bratva.

But I was not.

Suddenly, I can’t keep it inside anymore. I have to know. No more of Yulian’s half-answers—no more guesswork.

“Look,” I start. “I know it’s none of my business, but?—”

“Love the start of that question,” she says. Somehow, she doesn’t sound like she’s mocking me. “Go on.”

Her eyes fix on me with a bright, amused sort of curiosity. I swallow around a dry mouth and force myself to ask the question that’s been on my mind ever since last night.

“Are you Yulian’s girlfriend?”

It comes out all at once— AreyouYuliansgirlfriend? —which isn’t very dignified. Part of me wants to dig through all fifty floors of the StarTech skyscraper just to find a hole to crawl into.

I can feel Nikita’s eyes on me, burning holes in my face with her dumbfounded staring. I’m on the verge of blurting out an excuse and running back into the fold, Brad danger be damned.

But then…

Is she laughing?

Nikita doubles over. I can hear her wheeze, struggling to catch her breath, holding on for dear life to the railing.

“ Fuck no.” She pulls herself together and lifts her face again, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “Not in a thousand years. That’d be a fucking nightmare.”

“I… Oh.”

“No offense.”

“None taken.” Then I realize why she’s said that. “I mean, not that I’d have any reason to be— It’s just, we’re not?—”

“Relax.” Nikita waves off my ramblings. “He told me what the deal is with you two.”

“He did?”

“Well, no. Maks told me. He’s way more talkative than our mutual BFF.”

I can’t fight the smile off my face. I tell myself it’s because hearing Yulian being called anyone’s BFF is too ridiculous to ignore, but it’s only half the truth.

The relief is much stronger than anything else.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Mentally, I cross Nikita off the list of reasons for Yulian’s weird behavior lately. It doesn’t leave me with much, but if nothing else, it leaves me with hope.

I turn back to her, much more at ease now. “Sounds like you’re all caught up.”

“That I am.” She steals two glasses of champagne and hands one to me. “So, wanna get out of here?”

I blink. “Like, ditch the party?”

“Oh, believe me, this isn’t the party. This is a corporate sausage fest. The real party’s downstairs.”

“Downstairs?”

“You’ll see. It’s where Yulian hides all his actual friends.”

“I—” My gaze darts to the crowd, to where Yulian is. But the sea of suits remains unchanging. And the cold dread of running into Brad without him by my side?—

It makes Nikita’s offer incredibly inviting.

Besides, I want to know more about Yulian. What kind of company he keeps when he isn’t wearing his CEO mask. What his friends are like.

“C’mon.” Nikita hooks her arm through mine. “Gotta pay you back for last night somehow, don’t I? Consider this my rescue mission to you.”

And, well. That’d be rude to refuse.

So I let Nikita drag me through the crowd, push me into the elevator, and push the button to the basement floor.