Page 55 of Filthy Promises

“And I think I’m starting to see patterns.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Such as?”

She leans closer, her voice dropping. “The Russians cluster together. The Japanese and Koreans stay on opposite sidesof the room. The Italians by the far wall keep watching you whenever they think you’re not looking.”

My pulse quickens. She’s observant. Dangerously so.

“Go on,” I encourage.

“The man in the gray suit by the auction table—he’s been talking to the police commissioner all evening, even though they’re pretending not to know each other.”

I smile, impressed despite myself. “Very good. What else?”

She turns to face me fully, those green eyes bright with intelligence. “Everyone here treats you with respect. Some with fear. But all of them want something from you.”

“Including you?”

The air between us crackles with tension. I step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. All the thoughts that have been occupying my head since the moment Rowan stepped into my car at the beginning of the evening reach a fever pitch. I’m throbbing with hot blood, this insatiable desire to sweep all the glassware of the nearest table and replace it with Rowan.

I can already see where I’d grab hold of that green gown. It’d rip right down the middle, parting her for me like a fucking flower. And in the middle, brimming with nectar?—

“Vincent.”

A hand claps my shoulder. I turn, irritated by the interruption.

Andrei Akopov stands there, resplendent in his tuxedo, silver hair slicked back as always, eyes sharp as ever.

“Father,” I greet him, automatically straightening my posture. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Clearly,” he says dryly, his gaze moving to Rowan. “And who is this lovely creature?”

I make the introduction, watching as my father takes Rowan’s measure with a single glance.

“My new executive assistant,” I explain.

“Executive assistant,” he repeats. “How… convenient.”

Rowan extends her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Akopov. Your son speaks very highly of you.”

A lie, but a good one. My father almost smiles as he shakes her hand.

“Does he now? How refreshing.” He turns back to me. “Vincent, a word in private?”

I nod to Rowan. “Wait for me here. I won’t be long.”

“Of course,” she says. Her perfect professionalism masks whatever she might be feeling.

I follow my father to a quiet corner of the ballroom. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Is this the one you mentioned? The solution to your marriage problem?”

I keep my face neutral. “Perhaps.”

“Asecretary?” His disgust is palpable. “You could have any woman from any family. The Petrovs. The Kuznetsovs. Women raised in our world, who understand what it means to be Bratva. And you choose?—”

“Times change, Father. Old alliances aren’t the only path to power.”

He scoffs. “She’s nothing. A nobody.”

“She’s what I want.” The words come out before I can stop them.

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