5. Alena

"I'm so fucking stupid," I sob softly, shoving another forkful of cake into my mouth. "Of course he only sees me as a child. That's how he'll always see me!"

"Alena, I'm so sorry." Katja reaches across the counter, knife in one hand, and gently swipes her thumb across my damp cheek. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do! He gave me a doll. It's a pretty doll, but it's the kind of present you give to a child, not someone you…" Trailing off, I aggressively stab into my slice of birthday cake and drown my sadness in vanilla sponge and chocolate frosting.

What was I thinking? That he would turn up here, take one look at me, and declare his undying love for me? Whisk me away to whatever fancy penthouse he lives in and ravish me until I don't know my own name?

Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking, and as fantasies go, it's definitely one of the tamer ones.

Instead, I'm stuck here, locked away and facing down marriage to a stranger because my parents want to make our family stronger. I grumble under my breath, and Katja pauses her chopping of carrots and takes my hand.

"Maybe you need to do something different to get his attention if that's what you really want to do."

Sniffling, I lift my head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's a real man. If he can't accept what's right in front of him, maybe you need to get even. Make him jealous."

"He wouldn't be jealous," I say dejectedly. "He wouldn't even care. He kissed that woman right in front of me!"

"Now, now," Katja snaps softly. "Don't act like a brat. You're better than this. Go out there. Get even. Hell, maybe follow Mara's example. That woman is as cold as sin, yet she has all the men at the party wrapped around her fingers. I see them drooling over here when I'm passing out entrées. It's kind of disrespectful if you consider the fact she's the Pakhan's wife, but the way she acts, you'd never know."

Snorting softly, the next forkful of cake doesn't make it to my lips. "She's a witch. I'm sure she's done some sort of magic to trick everyone out here because, honestly, who could like someone so cruel?"

"Alena!"

Right on cue, my mother sweeps into the kitchen. Katja immediately gets back to work under the disdainful eye Mara casts at her, then she grasps my wrist and pulls me from the stool I'd been sitting on.

"What on earth are you doing in here? There are people for you to meet—what happened to your face?" Suddenly, her cold hands grip my chin and she starts to roughly swipe at my cheeks, clearing the tears as if they're nothing but an inconvenience.

"I'm sorry," I gasp around her hands. "I went out to see Papa."

"Complaining to your father will get you nowhere," she scolds, then she tsks and sighs. "You've ruined your makeup. Is there anything else you want to spoil before the night is over?"

She drags me from the kitchen before I can answer, but on my way out, I glimpse Katja who straightens up and gives such a good enough impression of my mother that by the time I'm back in the ballroom, there's a smile on my face.

"Alena, this is Mikhail Kuznetsov. He is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Kuznetsov." Mara introduces me to a man who stands slightly taller than me. His black hair is slicked to the point that it looks wet, and his beady eyes rove over my dress as he licks his lips. He holds out a thick hand.

"Evening."

Mara raises a brow at me expectantly, so I shake his hand. His grip is almost crushing as if to immediately assert his dominance.

"Good evening. I trust you're enjoying the party?"

"It's alright." Mikhail shrugs and tips the champagne glass in his hand. "Seen better."

"Yes, quite." Mara smiles politely and places her hand between my shoulder blades, forcing me a step closer. "Oh, would you excuse me for one moment?" She melts into the crowd, leaving me with Mikhail and his painful handshake.

When he finally releases me, the presence of his hand still lingers around my own. Immediately, I want to leave and an excuse rises in my throat, but just as I'm about to take my leave, Katja's words fill my mind. Maybe acting like my mother is the way to go, if not just to make Kristof jealous but also to survive whatever comes next.

"So, what is it your family does?" I smile politely and straighten my stance slightly, pushing my chest out. Mikhail's eyes dart down to my breasts and take their time coming back up to my eyes.

"My father works for your father," he retorts.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Maybe. Though we do not need him as much as he needs us." Mikhail's square jaw juts out sharply. "My father owns the shipping lanes that bring weapons into this country. An important role, if not the most important. Without us, the entire Family would be without the latest weapons. People think American rifles are the way to go, but the truth is?" Mikhail leans close, and I feign interest with a smile. "What's coming out of Cuba these days is liquid gold." He sighs deeply then and drains his glass. "Not that my father has a clue."

This is where I'd typically be bored enough to leave, but Mara would stay. She has an uncanny ability to get people to pour their heart out, and the more I listen to Mikhail, the more I realize it's because these men are so self-centered that getting them to talk about themselves is the easiest thing in the world.

"How so?" I prompt. "You'd do things differently to your father?"

"Oh, absolutely." Mikhail scoffs as if it's the most obvious answer. "I'm sure you wouldn't understand, being one of the women and all, but when it comes to things like business, there's a certain business savvy that can't be taught. You either have it or you don't. My father had it, but times have changed. We want the best weapons that are on offer to protect our own Family and to sell on to those that need them, but the weapons coming from the East are no longer top-quality."

It's too easy to simply nod and make noises in my throat as Mikhail continues, rambling about his father's poor decisions and the importance of letting the younger generation take the reins when securing the future.

I'm slightly envious of how freely he speaks. My future is simply securing a husband and strengthening an alliance.

It's difficult not to roll my eyes, and as my gaze wanders through the party, past crowds of tipsy people, glittering decorations, and the intricate artwork decorating the walls, one thing suddenly catches my attention.

Kristof.

He has returned from the garden with my father by his side. My heart immediately leaps into my throat. He's so fucking handsome.

With thick, silver hair sweeping across the top of his head, tanned skin, and a jaw strong enough to be any lady's seat, just the sight of him sends a flurry of warmth through my body right down to my core. The sleeves of his jacket are rolled up, exposing the dark ink that swirls across his forearms, and once again, I wistfully imagine how many more tattoos exist under that jacket. He's so tall that I know he'd dwarf me, and I would enjoy every second of it.

The strength he must carry in those muscles excites me.

But it's just a crush. The thought of kissing him morphs into the almost animalistic way he kissed his date, and with that memory comes a sourness that sweeps across my tongue and churns in my gut. By his present, he clearly still sees me as a child.

Maybe that's the problem.

Suddenly, his silver eyes, like glistening pools of moonlight, snap up and lock onto mine from across the room as if he heard my very thoughts. I can't breathe under his gaze and warmth prickles across my chest, lancing down my spine. Carefully, I lick my lips, chasing away their sudden dryness, and under Kristof's full view, I slowly turn to Mikhail and take his hand.

Mikhail's rant tapers off and his brow lifts, then a knowing smirk grows across his lips.

"Do you want to go somewhere more private?" I ask, angling my body toward him and leaning close enough that my next breath has my breasts lightly grazing his arm.

"You know a place?"

"I have a secret spot. Follow me." Stepping back, I glance back at Kristof, and he's still staring at me, only there's a slight darkness to his eyes now.

A darkness that excites me further.

I want him to look at me. I want him to see me leading Mikhail away from the party. I want him to feel even a fraction of the jealousy that coursed through me when he kissed that woman.

Maybe then, he won't see me as a little girl anymore.

I get my wish as Kristof's eyes remain locked on me until Mikhail and I slip away.