37. Chapter 37

37

Leonid

I let Fiona lead the way, her gown trailing like a ripple through still water.

The room seems to react to her, not the other way around, as conversations drop an octave when her bodyguards fall into line behind us. A wall of black suits and stony expressions, they move with military precision, their presence as natural as a shadow and twice as menacing.

I follow her toward the quieter corners of the gala, my mind half on her and half scanning the room one last time. Still no Maksim.

Idi na khui, Maksim. This isn’t the time to disappear.

She glances back once, her red lips curving into a smile as she catches me watching.

“Don’t look so tense, Leonid,” she purrs. “This is the fun part.”

“Fun isn’t what I came for,” I mutter, adjusting my cufflink as I keep pace with her.

She stops in front of a set of tall, ornate doors near the far end of the hall, gilded with gold that’s almost too on the nose for a jewelry-themed gala. The kind of detail that screams money and whispers danger.

I let Fiona step back to stand beside me, her hand slipping under my arm smoothly.

From the shadows of her bodyguards emerges her right-hand man, a stocky figure with a military-cut salt-and-pepper buzz, his thick neck bulging slightly above his tailored black suit. A jagged scar curves down from his right temple to the edge of his cheekbone.

Without hesitation, he steps forward and punches in a series of digits on the keypad embedded in the gilded door. The screen flickers, requiring his eye scan. He leans in, his scar catching the light, and a soft beep unlocks the ornate panels.

“Now, Leonid,” Fiona purrs again, her voice a mix of indulgence and amusement as she tilts her head to glance at me, “you’ll see. Trust me, darling. Surprises are what keep life interesting.”

“I don’t like surprises,” I mutter, my tone flat. My fingers twitch at my side, a reflex I don’t bother suppressing. Hidden under the fabric of my suit jacket, the weight of my gun presses reassuringly against my ribs. A second blade is strapped to my ankle—small, discreet, sharp enough to get the job done if it comes to that.

The doors swing open with a soft hiss, revealing a space that feels worlds away from the grandeur of the gala outside. Dim lighting casts shadows across the room, the air cooler, carrying a faint hum of machinery. Her bodyguards fan out behind us, silent as sentinels.

Fiona strides in, her hand still loosely linked through my arm. The room is vast but designed to intimidate, not impress. Glass display cases line the walls, showcasing pieces that scream exclusivity: diamond necklaces that would bankrupt small nations, rare stones that gleam with an otherworldly hue, and custom sets that practically radiate untouchability. The center of the room is dominated by a long table, empty but polished to a mirror-like sheen.

She pauses mid-step, turning her head toward me with a sly smile. “Do you realize how long we’ve been working together, Leonid?”

“Ten years, eleven months,” I reply automatically, my gaze moving over the room. My unease itches at the back of my neck, but I don’t let it show.

“That’s why I like you so much! You remember every detail…” She squeezes my arm harder, her rings pressing into my suit. “Oh my, so strong…” Her tongue darts out to wet those ridiculous lips.

The door clicks shut behind us, the lock engaging with a faint metallic thud. I glance back. Two guards have taken position, their stances firm, hands close to their holstered weapons. Military-trained, no question.

Govno, something’s up.

Fiona steps away from me. I turn my attention back to her standing at the center of the room, her emerald gown catching the faint glow of the overhead lights. She watches me, her red lips curling with amusement.

A long display table stretches across the center, lined with velvet cushions cradling the gold. Necklaces, bracelets, rings—all glittering under precise, cold lighting.

Fiona walks toward the table, her fingers gliding over a bold gold necklace studded with diamonds.

“Your shipment,” she says simply. “Melted down, repurposed, and polished to perfection.”

I step closer, my eyes narrowing as I inspect a necklace. The craftsmanship is flawless; bold, without being gaudy. Fiona’s people know their work. This isn’t just jewelry—it’s power, wealth, the kind of pieces that can’t be questioned in her world of elite clientele.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” I say, my tone neutral but edged with approval.

Her smile sharpens, her gaze meeting mine. “It’s what I do, darling. You bring me the gold; I make it into something irresistible. You wouldn’t believe how fast this collection will sell out.”

But something doesn’t sit right. I glance around again, the itch in my instincts growing.

“And the rest?” I ask, my voice calm but sharp. “Where’s the remainder of the shipment?”

“Oh, darling, don’t rush me,” she chides, waving a perfectly manicured finger. “There’s more. But you’ll have to come a little further for the full show.”

She steps in closer, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the table as she leans forward just enough to close the space between us. Her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that makes promises she has no intention of keeping.

“And this is just the beginning,” she says, her words soft but deliberate. “Imagine what we could do with a little more… cooperation.”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “What kind of cooperation?”

Before she can answer, the door behind us opens. Heavy footsteps echo through the room, breaking the tense quiet.

I turn sharply, my hand brushing the inside of my jacket where my gun rests.

A voice cuts through the air. “Hello, brat. ”

And there he is. Ludis, stepping out of the shadows, his bruised face a glaring contrast to the crisp lines of his tailored suit. A cigar smolders between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward as he takes a slow, deliberate drag.

His grin widens. “Miss me?”