Page 18 of Crimson Sin
The guest suite is bigger than Charlotte's and my entire apartment. There's a fireplace, a chandelier, and a view of the back gardens that looks like a postcard. A dressing table holds a tray of perfume bottles and a fresh bouquet of white peonies.
The bed is massive, draped in cream silk with pillows that look like they've never been slept on. Everything in the room is pristine and untouched. Like a stage set for a play I haven't rehearsed for.
Through the window, I can see the garden where some guests have wandered outside. Viktor is among them, Ivan maintaining his protective distance while staying alert to everything aroundthem. Even from this height, I can see the wolfish way Viktor moves, the sharp assessment in every gesture.
“He's not going to make this easy, is he?” I ask, nodding toward the window.
Daniil follows my gaze, his expression hardening when he sees his cousin below. “Viktor doesn't make anything easy. It's not in his nature.” Daniil’s jaw clenches with a hint of restrained anger, tightening the corners of his mouth.
“And Ivan?”
“Will follow Viktor's lead, no matter what that entails.”
The certainty in his voice draws goosebumps to the surface of my arms. Whatever game we're playing, the stakes are higher than I initially understood. And Viktor, with his dangerous smile and his loyal bodyguard, represents a threat I'm only beginning to comprehend.
Daniil walks toward the double doors and rests his hand on the handle. “You have thirty minutes to relax,” he says, his voice quiet, though firm. “There’s a gown in the wardrobe. Jewelry on the table if you choose to wear it. Dinner starts at nine sharp.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply. Just offers a final glance, then steps out, the door closing behind him with a soft click. I stare at it for a moment, oddly breathless. Thirty minutes. Enough time to change clothes. Not enough to change anything else.
Through the window, I can still see Viktor in the garden, his figure illuminated by the estate's security lighting. Whatever he is planning, whatever test he's devised for Daniil and me, it's far from over.
6
DANIIL
The dining room of the Zorin estate has always been a theater of performance. Galina designed it that way. Forty feet long, with a polished obsidian table at its center, flanked by high-backed chairs carved in dark wood and crowned with silver lions. The chandelier overhead is antique Baccarat, dripping crystals like icicles. Every detail in this room whispers power.
And tonight, every seat is filled. The men at the table represent various aspects of our organization. Timur commands our enforcement division with ruthless control. Roman handles our more delicate operations, the ones that require precision rather than force. Maksim serves as a muscle. His unpredictability is useful for intimidation. Each of them brings different skills to our enterprise.
Several other men and women sit farther down the table as well, a mix of strategic allies, business partners, and high-level contacts whose loyalty once belonged to my mother. Now, they watch in silence, their attention lingering on Naomi, then on me, their expressions carefully guarded. They didn’t come just to eat. They came to see whether I still deserve to lead.
Naomi sits to my right, wearing a crimson silk gown. The color brings warmth to her skin, making her auburn hair shine like polished copper. She doesn't realize that she's changed the temperature in the room. Every man who looks at her tonight does so twice. Once with appreciation, then again with calculation. They wonder where she came from, how quickly she claimed my name, and what power she holds over me. The questions burn in their eyes, unspoken but present in every sideways glance and pause in conversation.
I watch them watching her. Nikolai adjusts his cufflinks nervously when she speaks, hanging on every word like gospel. Timur, usually stone-faced and brutal, actually straightens his posture when she addresses him directly about his travels. Even Lex, my second-in-command, seems to soften marginally in her presence, his perpetual scowl easing into something approaching civility.
She has no idea what she's done to them, or to me. I've trained myself to reveal nothing, but I can't stop the heat that coils low in my spine every time I glance her way. I didn't expect her to handle this evening with such poise. I didn't expect the knot in my chest when I saw her descending the staircase an hour ago, moving with the allure of someone born to wear couture and diamonds. I certainly didn't expect the urge that burns in me now to claim her in front of every single one of them.
The conversation around the table continues, a carefully orchestrated dance of status and influence. Nikolai regales the table with stories of his latest acquisitions, his Oxford education on full display as he drops references to obscure literary works. Irina listens with polite interest while mentally cataloging everything for future use. The other men nod and murmurapproval at appropriate intervals, but their attention keeps drifting to Naomi.
She handles their scrutiny with remarkable composure. When Timur asks about her work at the museum, she responds with genuine passion, describing a recent exhibition on Russian imperial art with such enthusiasm that even Viktor leans forward slightly. When one of the women inquires about her background, she answers honestly but strategically, revealing enough to seem open while maintaining appropriate privacy.
But I notice the small tells that reveal her tension. The way she takes deliberate sips of water instead of touching her wine. How her left hand occasionally smooths her napkin in her lap when someone asks a particularly probing question. The slight tightening around her eyes when Viktor's gaze lingers too long.
The dinner is an exercise from Galina's old traditions. Course after course of elaborate Russian cuisine, each dish prepared by the chef she'd imported from St. Petersburg years ago. Beet and herring salad arranged like artwork on bone china. Beef stroganoff that melts in your mouth. Blini with caviar that costs more than most people's monthly salary.
Viktor raises his glass as the main course is served, his eyes never leaving Naomi's face. “To family,” he announces, his voice carrying just far enough to command attention. “And to the unexpected additions that make life so much more interesting.”
The toast receives polite applause, but I hear the subtle emphasis he places on “unexpected.” He's probing, testing, and looking for reactions. I lift my own glass in acknowledgment while studying his expression. Viktor has always been dangerous, but tonight there's something different in his demeanor. He’s more focused, more intense.
“Indeed,” I reply smoothly. “Life has a way of surprising us all.”
Naomi raises her water glass, her smile perfectly composed, even as I notice the slight tremor in her fingers. She's learning quickly how to navigate these treacherous waters, but the strain is evident.
I’m increasingly aware of the undercurrents flowing through the room. Irina keeps glancing between Naomi and me with methodical interest, no doubt wondering how our arrangement will affect various legal matters. Lex maintains his usual stoic silence, but his eyes track every movement, every interaction, filing away information for later analysis. But it's Viktor who concerns me most.
“Naomi,” Viktor says, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, “I've been curious about your transition into our family. It must be quite an adjustment, moving from academia into...” He gestures vaguely at the opulent surroundings. “This world.”
She sets down her fork carefully, meeting his gaze directly. “Every transition requires adaptation,” she replies. “But I've found that passion makes most adjustments worthwhile.”
