Page 15 of Crimson Sin
“Of course,” Irina agrees.
Before I can parse the meaning behind her words, a tall, lean man with a shaved head approaches. His heavily tattooed arms are visible beneath his rolled sleeves, and his gray-blue eyes scan the room with razor-sharp focus. Everything about him suggests tempered aggression, like a weapon waiting to be deployed.
“Lex Vetrov,” he introduces himself, his voice clipped and direct. “I handle security operations for the family.”
“Do you mean security for the business?” I ask.
“Among other things,” Lex replies. His Russian accent is faint but unmistakable. “Protection is a comprehensive endeavor.”
“Must be interesting work,” I venture.
“It has its moments,” he responds, his eyes never stopping their systematic scan of the room. “Though hopefully you'll never need to see that side of things.”
The comment sends a chill down my spine. There's something in the way he phrases it that suggests the “interesting” aspects of his work aren't the kind you'd want to witness.
“Lex keeps us all safe,” Daniil explains. “His team is...thorough.”
“Thorough is one word for it,” Lex replies with a hint of humor. “If you'll excuse me, I need to check the perimeter.”
He moves away with the unnerving grace of someone who's seen combat, leaving me with more questions than answers.
“He seems intense,” I observe.
“He's good at his job,” Daniil responds. “That requires a certain level of intensity.”
“And what exactly does his security job entail?”
“Making sure people like you can enjoy evenings like this without worrying about the details.”
The answer is smooth and practiced, but it doesn't quite satisfy me. What kinds of details require that level of security? What threats exist in this world that necessitate armed guards and military-grade protection?
We continue through the crowd, and I begin to notice patterns. The women are all beautiful in that polished, expensive way thatrequires significant maintenance. The men are all powerful in that quiet, dangerous way that requires substantial connections. And everyone watches everyone else with the intensity of people who know that information is power.
“A word of advice,” Irina reappears at my elbow, her voice low enough that only I can hear. “In this world, everyone is playing a game. The smart ones know the rules. The dangerous ones make their own.”
“Which one am I?” I ask.
Her smile curves with wicked amusement. “That remains to be seen.”
As if summoned by our conversation about dangerous people, a man steps inside. He’s tall and lean, dressed in a black pinstripe suit that fits as if it were stitched onto him. A silver watch flashes at his wrist with each unhurried step. His light brown hair is slicked back in a way that feels careless yet deliberate. His steel-blue eyes roam the room like he's hunting for something or someone. When they lock onto me, his mouth curves into a smile that feels more like a dare than a greeting. The kind of smile that should be charming but isn't.
I've met men like him before. Men who believe their attractiveness gives them the license to take what they want. Men who view women as accessories rather than people to be respected. Charlotte used to call them “beautiful disasters.” Gorgeous enough to make you forget your better judgment, dangerous enough to make you regret it later.
Behind him trails a stocky, bald man with faded tattoos creeping up his neck. His dark eyes assess everything as if he’s seen violence up close and expects to see it again.
“So, this is the new Mrs. Zorin,” the man in the black pinstripe suit declares, stepping close while his bodyguard maintains a watchful distance.
I manage a polite smile. “Naomi.”
“Naomi,” he repeats, his voice smooth as glass. “It suits you.”
His eyes sweep over me with deliberate slowness. Not leering exactly, but close enough to make my spine stiffen. He's evaluating me, cataloguing my reactions, and testing my boundaries with the casual confidence of someone who's rarely been told no.
“Viktor,” Daniil states, his voice even, but edged with menace. “I trust your flight from New York was smooth.”
“Seamless,” Viktor replies, not taking his eyes off me. “I wasn't expecting you to find a wife so soon.”
“Life is full of surprises,” Daniil retorts. Although his tone is calm, I feel the tension in the way his hand subtly tightens around mine.
