Page 34 of Beautiful Monster

"No," I agree, guiding her through a turn that brings her back against my chest. "You married me for survival. There's a difference."

The dance floor has become a chessboard, and I'm acutely aware of every player circling us. Vladimir and the Novikovs have positioned themselves near the east exit. My father's men have naturally formed a perimeter. Anton watches us with the haunted eyes of a man who knows his daughter’s life is in danger.

"Tell me what he threatened," Kira insists, her fingers tightening on my shoulder. "I need to know what we're facing."

The music slows, and I lower my lips to her ear, using the intimacy of the moment as cover. "Vlad mentioned Alina."

I feel her stiffen almost imperceptibly. She knows the name—of course, she does. The whispers about my first wife's murder have followed me for years, each retelling more gruesome than the last. Most get the details wrong, but the ending is always the same: a young woman's body is found in pieces, and a husband paints the city red with blood in response.

"He's suggesting history could repeat itself."

"Yes."

Her throat works as she swallows, but her steps never falter. "Then we make sure it doesn't."

I study her face, searching for cracks in her composure. Instead, I find only determination mingled with fury.

"You should be terrified," I tell her, my voice rougher than intended.

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Who says I'm not?" She leans closer, her breath warm against my neck. "But fear doesn't help us survive, does it?"

The song ends, and we separate with practiced courtesy, but her hand remains in mine as we move toward the edge of the dance floor. I feel eyes tracking our every move—Vladimir's calculating gaze, Kazimir's hunger, my father's assessment.

"I need to speak with my father," I tell her, scanning the crowd for potential threats. "Stay where I can see you."

Her chin lifts slightly. "I'm going to get some air. The terrace is right there, and your men are at every door."

Before I can object, she adds, "If I cower in a corner all night, we show weakness. Is that what you want?"

She's learning too quickly, adapting to this life with an instinct that both impresses and alarms me. I nod once, reluctantly. "Five minutes. Don't speak to anyone."

"Yes, husband," she replies, the formality undercut by the subtle challenge in her eyes.

I watch her glide through the crowd, midnight silk flowing around her like water. Men turn to look—they always do—but she moves past them with practiced indifference. Only when she reaches the glass doors to the terrace, do I turn toward my father, who stands in conversation with an aging senator whose loyalty we purchased years ago?

"A moment," I say in Russian, and my father excuses himself with the smooth charm that has disarmed countless enemies.

We move to a quieter corner, where the string quartet's music provides cover for our voices. "Vladimir's made his move," I tell him, accepting a glass of vodka from a passing waiter.

My father's weathered face remains impassive, but his eyes—the same ice blue as mine—harden to steel. "The Novikovs are an insult. Their presence here means someone is backing them."

"Vladimir Petrov has already confessed he’s in league with them. He's building a coalition."

"Against us specifically, or the agreement with Malakhov?"

I consider this, remembering the way Vladimir looked at Kira. "He wants to punish me for guessing his involvement in Alina’s death and holding his men responsible.”

My father's hand tightens around his glass, the only outward sign of his anger. "Then we respond accordingly."

The words are simple, but their meaning is clear: blood will answer blood.

"Not yet," I say, surprising myself with the restraint. "We need to know who else stands with Vladimir. One wrong move and we could trigger something bigger than we can handle.”

My father studies me, his gaze penetrating. "The girl has changed you."

It's not a question, and I don't bother denying it. "Kira's observant. Resilient."

"And beautiful," he adds with unexpected gentleness. “I knew you couldn’t resist her for long.”

---