Igor couldn’t drink on antibiotics. Pity, he thought bitterly, for a bottle of vodka would have done wonders for him while he navigated Olaf’s birthday party. The puncture wounds had been cleaned and covered. Minor painkillers were flowing through his veins, but the real balm to his injury was Maryruth.
She looked like Old-Hollywood glamour in a dusky pink gown with a modest neckline. An opal cameo necklace adorned her throat, and at her ears were small cameo roses. Her blonde hair was styled in a low-hanging bun that highlighted her elegant, slender neck.
Her glossy lips touched the rim of her champagne flute. Finishing off the rest of her glass, she looked at him with a sideways smile.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he whispered against her ear, his hand riding low on her waist.
“Just tonight?” she teased, pressing a hand to his tuxedo jacket.
“All the nights. From now until forever.”
Her smile softened, as did her gaze. “Thank you.” She looked around the private event room of the Borgata Hotel. “Your father went all out, didn’t he?”
The decorations bordered on garish, but that was his father’s way. Presents were stacked on the few tables in the corner. On the opposite side of the room were the bar and the chocolate and champagne fountains. This part of the evening was all business. When their colleagues’ wives went to bed, the real party would begin in one of the hotel’s private casinos.
“Are you ready to meet him?” Igor asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
She sighed. “I’ve had just enough champagne to sedate me.”
“I’m jealous. I’m entirely sober. After meeting my father, I need you to drink enough for the both of us.”
Maryruth laughed. “I think I can be accommodating in that regard.” She slid her body close to his, letting her hand wander beneath his tuxedo jacket, her touch saying what her words didn’t.
Just as Igor was about to search for his father, Sasha approached.
Like all the other men, Sasha wore a tuxedo.
“I’m surrounded by Russian James Bonds,” Maryruth remarked with a smile. “You look nice, Sasha.”
“Thank you,” he said, with a dapper little bow, causing Igor and Maryruth to laugh. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I need to speak to you,” Sasha said, turning to Igor. “It’s important.”
Igor looked at Maryruth.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“Won’t be long,” Igor said, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.
The two friends walked out of the private room and found a secluded place to talk in the lobby, a corner where they kept their voices low, their heads bent.
“It’s done,” Sasha said. “I have confirmation from Vlad.”
Igor raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“I’ve confirmed with other sources. Rostyslav is dead. Car accident,” he remarked wryly. “He drove off a cliff on his way Upstate to spend time with his mistress.”
“We’ll meet with Vlad on Monday when we’re back in the city,” Igor said. Olaf’s birthday celebration would last all weekend; business and pleasure would converge.
“How’s she doing? How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. She seems… I don’t know if it’s really hit her yet—what happened in the park.”
After Igor had been released from the hospital, he’d taken Maryruth home. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, her feet in his lap while he’d had a phone conversation with Sasha, catching him up him on the events of the afternoon.
“Good thing you always carry a ballpoint pen,” Sasha remarked dryly.
Igor didn’t smile. Nothing about the situation was funny. Maryruth could’ve been seriously injured.
He couldn’t have that.
A vision of the dead dog flashed in his mind. One side of the animal had been black, the other white, a streak down the middle dividing the dueling colors. What foreshadowing, he thought. If only the owner had been paying attention.
He’d pay attention now. Or he’d just pay.
“What do you want to do?” Sasha asked, noting the thoughtful expression on Igor’s face.
“Kill the fucker.”
“Was he encouraging the animal’s behavior?”
“No.”
“Does he deserve it?” Sasha asked.
Igor paused. Opposing emotions raged within him. In the end, he didn’t want to be Olaf; he didn’t want to make poor decisions based on anger.
“All right,” Igor relented.
“Let’s get back to the party. I need a drink.”
So did Igor, but unfortunately, sobriety was in his near future.
They headed for the ballroom. Igor wanted nothing more than to find Maryruth, wish his father a happy birthday, and then slink off to the expensive hotel suite he’d booked. He’d like nothing more than to get Maryruth into a bubble bath, watch the steam curl her blond hair, and then make love to her while the lights of Atlantic City glowed brightly through their open window. Unfortunately, his father and his injury would prevent such things from occurring.
He heard her laugh before he saw her, and when his gaze pinner her, his mouth nearly gaped. Maryruth was conversing with Olaf—and shock of all shocks, they both appeared to be enjoying each other’s company.
Maryruth’s eyes slid from Olaf to meet Igor’s. She smiled widely. And that’s when he knew that she was lying. She didn’t enjoy Olaf’s company, but she was giving a good show.
Igor strode purposefully toward her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her into his side. “Sorry I had to step out.” To his father, he said, “Happy Birthday. I see you’ve met Maryruth.”
Olaf’s hand clenched around his drink. “Yes. Your lovely companion was kind enough to entertain me while I waited for you to greet me.”
Igor refused to engage.
“This is quite a party,” Sasha piped up, hoping to diffuse the tension between father and son.
“Da. Sonya went all out.”
Sonya was Olaf’s mistress of ten years. She was just as garish and greedy as he was. Some sort of loyalty kept Olaf tied to her—not that it prevented him from fooling around with other women. He was powerful, the head of the Russian mob. Not much to look at—he’d let himself go. But women still clambered over one another to get to him.
Igor wondered how it would be for him when he took over. He had no desire to be unfaithful, had no trouble believing he could be true to one woman. If the woman was Maryruth.
“Would you like to see what she bought me?” Olaf droned on, brown eyes gleaming with excitement. He didn’t wait for their answers. Instead, he moved off towards the raised platform and microphone stand. In the center of the platform was an easel, a red velvet drape concealing Sonya’s gift. Olaf tapped the microphone to gain everyone’s attention.
The room quieted and eyes turned to Olaf. He grinned, preparing to give them a show. He is all about the spectacle, Igor thought snidely.
“Thank you all for coming,” Olaf began. “I’m so glad to be able to spend my birthday with close friends and family.”
Igor stifled his eye roll. There were easily five hundred people in the ballroom and most were business associates, or those afraid of Olaf’s powerful reach. He didn’t inspire loyalty—he inspired fear. And this display was nothing more than a statement of his wealth and power.
“My lovely Sonya,” Olaf went on, pointing to the woman wearing a black sequined dress that was not at all age appropriate, “has given me a beautiful painting that’s too magnificent not to share with you.”
Two men flanked the easel. With a nod from Olaf, they removed the red velvet curtain shielding the canvas. Olaf’s eyes locked on Igor’s, a satisfied smile on his face, when he revealed to five hundred people what Maryruth looked like naked.