Chapter 8 - Irina

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath, tugging at the ropes of this ridiculous dress. It's gorgeous, no doubt—black, sleek, and just this side of scandalous—but it's also completely impractical. I'm not sure how women manage to breathe in these things, let alone tie themselves into them.

Another string slips through my fingers, and I curse again, louder this time. This isn't the kind of thing I usually wear, and it shows. The fabric clings to my curves in a way that feels both foreign and dangerous, like I'm stepping into a role I'm not sure I'm ready to play.

After a few more futile attempts, I let out a frustrated huff and stomp down the hall to Alexei's room. If I'm going to get this damn thing on, I'm going to need help. I push open the door without knocking.

He looks up from whatever he's doing, a smirk already playing on his lips. "Need a hand?"

"Don't even start," I snap, but the bite in my voice softens when I see the way his smirk fades into something else entirely as he takes in the sight of me. Suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of every inch of the dress, every curve it highlights.

"Is it that bad?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can't help the way my fingers twitch nervously at my sides.

Alexei blinks, his usual confidence slipping. "No—no, it's not bad at all." He clears his throat, clearly struggling to find his words. "You look . . . you look great."

I don't have time to analyze the way my heart skips at his compliment. "Good. Now help me with this damn thing," I say, turning my back to him and pulling my hair over one shoulder to give him access to the tangled mess of ribbons.

He steps closer, and I swear I can feel the heat of him even before his fingers brush against my skin. The touch is light, almost too careful, as if he's afraid of crossing a line. But the memory of those hands on me—exploring, claiming—floods my mind, and I have to bite my lip to keep from reacting.

His fingers work the ribbons, and I focus on the sensation, the way each brush of his hand sends little jolts of awareness through me. It's maddening, really, how something so simple can be so charged.

"There," he murmurs close to my ear. I don't even realize he's finished until I feel the absence of his touch. "All done."

I take a breath, trying to steady myself before I turn back around. I'm about to thank him when I notice the way his eyes haven't left mine, and for a moment, it's like there's too much electricity in the air.

"You're . . . fine," he adds, the words almost stumbling out of him, and I know he's not just talking about the dress.

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I can't tell if it's from his words or the way he's looking at me. I step back, breaking the tension with a quick movement.

"Thanks," I say, a little too quickly, and I start to turn toward the door.

"And don't forget," he says with that smirk returning, "you're not wearing sneakers tonight. I expect to see those heels I bought you."

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder, swearing under my breath again as I leave the room. Behind me, I can hear his laughter following me down the hall.

***

Alexei's hand rests firmly on the small of my back, his touch igniting a spark that spreads warmth through the thin fabric of my dress. The way his fingers splay possessively against my back, the heat of his body seeping into mine—it's impossible to ignore how those same hands were on me last night, tracing my skin in ways that left me breathless and aching for more.

We approach the guards at the entrance to the main hall, and I hold my breath as Alexei presents our forged invitation. The guard's eyes flick over us, lingering for a moment longer than I'm comfortable with, but then he nods and steps aside, allowing us to pass. I exhale slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction.

The grandeur of the ballroom envelops us as soon as we step inside. The ceiling is a vast, glittering expanse of crystal chandeliers, casting soft, warm light over the extravagance below. Every detail, from the intricate gold-leaf moldings to the lush red velvet drapes, screams wealth and power. It's like stepping into another world—one that's as beautiful as it is corrupt. I'm hyper-aware of the mask covering my face; the anonymity provides a small comfort in this den of wolves.

It's the kind of place that people like Sergei thrive in, surrounded by the spoils of their cruelty. And somewhere in this room, he's here too.

"Relax," he murmurs in my ear, as if he can sense the storm brewing inside me. "We're not here to take Sergei down tonight. This is about gathering intel, nothing more."

I nod, even though every fiber of my being rebels against the idea of waiting. But I know he's right. We can't afford to be reckless, not when there's so much at stake. "I know."

Alexei's hand slides from my back, and I feel the loss of his touch like a physical ache. "Mingle if you can. If not, stay put. I'll be around." His tone is casual but a warning not to do anything stupid.

I don't argue. There's no point. We both know that when it comes to Sergei, I'm a loaded gun, and tonight is not the night to pull the trigger.

As Alexei disappears into the crowd, I'm left standing alone, surrounded by strangers whose faces are hidden behind masks just like mine.

I move through the room, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses swirling around me, but none of it registers. My focus is singular, my eyes scanning every corner, every face, searching for the man who destroyed my life.

Someone clinks his glass as he steps on stage. He's tall and imposing, with an air of untouchable arrogance that makes my blood simmer. He's dressed in a tailored suit that probably costs more than most people make in a year, his mask an ornate creation of gold and black that accentuates the cruel set of his mouth. I don't know who he is yet, but something about him sets my nerves on edge.

He pauses for a moment, letting the silence settle over the room before he speaks. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. For those who don't know me, I am Sergei Volkov."

The name hits me like a physical blow.

Sergei .

My breath hitches like a bad gear change, and suddenly, the world narrows down to just him: the man who tore my life apart. A molten wave of rage rises first, threatening to spill over and burn everything in its path. My hands curl into fists, and I dig my nails into my palms, as if I could somehow keep it contained. But then, right on its heels, a cold, slithering fear wraps around my spine, squeezing tight. I feel like I might explode or shatter, whichever comes first.

Sergei continues, "I trust you've all been enjoying the benefits of your investments. I'm pleased to report that our ventures have been more than successful. The Broker, as you know, is thrilled with the progress. He would have liked to join us tonight, but he had other matters to attend to."

My fists clench at my sides as he speaks. My vision narrows, the edges blurring as my entire world shrinks down to him, standing there, so smug, so invincible. Every instinct in me screams to act, to end this nightmare right now.

I don't think. I just move. It's like something has taken over, a force driving me forward, propelling me through the crowd and toward the stage. I don't hear the music anymore, don't see the other guests. There's only Sergei and the burning need to end this, to make him pay for everything he's done.

But just as I'm about to reach the edge of the stage, a hand grabs mine, yanking me back with a force that nearly knocks me off my feet. I spin around, fists clenched, ready to fight whoever dared to stop me. But it's Alexei, his face inches from mine, his eyes blazing with anger.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hisses, his grip on my arm tight, almost bruising.

He pulls me even harder, dragging me through the crowd with a determination that leaves no room for argument. We push through the sea of masked faces until he finds an empty hallway. The silence here is suffocating, and the only sound is our hurried breathing echoing off the walls.

Finally, he releases me, and I whirl around to face him. "What the hell, Alexei?"

He's right in front of me. "What are you thinking?... You can't just go off half-cocked like that."

"He's right there!" I whisper yell, the frustration bubbling over. "I could end this right now. One shot, and it's over."

"And then what?" He steps closer, his presence looming, filling the narrow space between us. "What about your brother? Have you forgotten about him? Or do you just not care anymore?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of my sails. I hate that he's right, that I can't just end this here and now, that there's more at stake than my need for vengeance. But that doesn't stop the fury from boiling over.

"Damn you, Alexei," I mutter, my voice breaking.

"Not here. Not now," he growls, his face so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin. "We'll get him, but we do it smart. Do you understand?"

Before I can respond, a guard passes by, and Alexei acts on instinct. His lips crash down on mine, his hands gripping my waist as he pulls me close, pressing me against the wall. I freeze, the shock of the kiss stunning me into silence. But then, something in me responds, my body moving of its own accord as I kiss him back, the world narrowing down to the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands. It's desperate and rough, nothing like the kiss we shared before.

The guard passes, and Alexei pulls back, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against mine. "We need to leave," he says, "I've talked to a few people, and I've gotten some information. That's enough for now."

"No," I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it. I don't know if I'm talking about leaving or about everything else that's slipping through my fingers, but it doesn't matter. All I know is that I can't walk away. Not yet.

He swears under his breath, his hand tightening on my arm. "Irina, I swear to God, if you don't move, I'll carry you out of here myself."

There's an edge of seriousness I've never heard from him before, and it makes me pause. He's not bluffing. He's deadly serious, and for the first time, I realize just how far he's willing to go to keep me safe, even from myself.

I swallow hard, my throat tight, and nod. "Fine," I mutter, pulling away from him, my movements stiff and jerky. "Let's go."