She Kissed Moscow’s Most Dangerous Mafia Boss to Save His Life

Dragged from the ballroom into a side corridor, Alexi pushed me against the wall with controlled force. "Either you are suicidal," he said softly, "or you just saved my life."

I lifted my chin. "Don’t drink it."

"What?"

"The glass. Don’t drink from it. Ever."

Understanding moved through him in three cold seconds. He returned to the ballroom, still holding my wrist, and ordered a guard to collect the broken crystal. When the guard returned and whispered into his ear, Alexi's face became terrifying.

"Poison," Alexi said aloud.

The word traveled through the room like a bullet. Akatarina gasped with theatrical horror. Within minutes, the ballroom emptied until only Alexi, Akatarina, his closest men, and I remained.

"You," he said, pointing at me, "are under my protection until I know the truth."

"It sounds a lot like imprisonment," I countered.

"In my world, the two often overlap."

Akatarina laughed bitterly. "How romantic. You are keeping the woman who publicly humiliated me."

Alexi’s eyes did not leave mine. "I am keeping the woman who noticed what everyone else missed."

That was how I became a prisoner in the penthouse of the Russian mafia boss I had been sent to spy on. His rooms occupied the top floor, high above Moscow’s snow-covered streets. Everything inside was quiet, expensive, and controlled.

"Sit," he said, pointing toward a leather sofa.

"I’d rather stand."

One eyebrow lifted. "You kissed the head of the Russian mafia in front of two hundred people and now refuse to sit on my couch because of pride?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

"It is ridiculous."

For the first time, amusement flickered across his face. "How did you know?" he asked.

"I saw her switch the glasses."

"Why did you care?"

That question was more dangerous than any gun. I shrugged. "Killing the host at an engagement party reflects badly on event planning."

"You are lying."

"Everyone is lying here, Mr. Ivankov. It’s part of the décor."

"Call me Alexi."

It was not a request. I said his name anyway. "Alexi." Something shifted when his name left my mouth, something intimate and stupid. He stepped closer, his fingers touching my chin, tilting my face toward the firelight.

"Are you afraid of me, Esme?"

"Should I be?"

"Most people are."