“Maxim, I’m serious,” Nadia said, starting to get agitated. “Their family has been feuding with my family for two hundred years. I don’t want to get thrown in the Moskva by some backwoods gangsters because my great-grandfather murdered their uncle or whatever the fuck.”
“Nadia,” Maxim said, rolling his eyes at her. “First of all, nobody here knows who you are. And second, it’s not 1820. That’s ancient bullshit.”
“It’s always 1820 for the Bratva,” Nadia hissed at him.
But she could tell from the way that Maxim was driving faster than ever that he couldn’t care less about what she was saying. He wanted to go to the party, and unless she yanked the steering wheel hard enough to run them off the road, nothing was going to stop him from getting what he wanted.
Nadia was furious with him. He was so fucking selfish. He cared more about his fun than her safety.
She tried a different tack.
“Maxim,” she said, in her most persuasive voice, “I’m hungry. Why don’t we stop for dinner somewhere first?”
But he wasn’t going to be distracted that easily.
He shook his head and took a right turn much too fast, so Nadia hit the passenger side door with her shoulder.
“They’ll have food at the party,” he said.
He had turned off the freeway onto a smaller side road, not that he had slowed his speed any.
“Maxim!” Nadia yelled. “I’m not going to that party!”
“Then you can sit in the car,” Maxim said, pulling into the drive. He screeched to a halt next to a Rolls Royce and an Aston Martin. He turned to grin at her. “Because we’re already here.”
Nadia could have cheerfully strangled him.
She could see the light pouring out of the sleek, modern mansion, and she could hear the pounding music. Dozens of stylish young couples were climbing out of their cars, scaling the steps up to the house. They looked like socialites, models, and the flashy, brash offspring of the oligarchs and mafia.
It was a large party, at least. And no security at the door, checking names.
With so many people, Maxim was probably right that they would go unnoticed. She’d make a much bigger scene if she tried to wrestle his car keys away from him or find some way of getting a taxi to pick her up.
Nadia took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.
She’d go inside and hope that nobody recognized her.
* * *
8
Nikolai
Moscow
Schemes are like fruit, they require a certain ripening.
George R.R. Martin
Nikolai Markov stood at the head of the stairs, looking down at the entryway to see if the Ministers had arrived yet. He felt tense and irritable, knowing that the negotiations of months had led up to this moment.
It was a ticklish business, securing the massive government contracts for bridges, dams, and roadways across Russia. And this was the biggest contract of all, one sought after by every major company in the nation: the bridge to the Crimea. They all wanted it, but only one family would take it.
Nikolai meant to secure it for the Markovs.
His father stood just behind him, so close that Nikolai could feel Zavier Markov’s breath on the back of his neck. They had discussed what needed to be done to close the deal a hundred times. Still, he knew his father was only just restraining himself from reminding Nikolai one more time.
The deal was worth billions. It would cement the Markov family’s place in Moscow for decades to come.
