Chapter 2

Katya

My blood was on fire.

“What?” I hissed into my phone, “What did you just fucking say?”

Danial Billow, the fool from the bank that had overseen the building I’d just taken over, went quiet for a moment. “It was authorized from above, Miss Petrenko. There was nothing we could do.”

I choked a chuckle. “How about giving me my fucking money ba—” The deadline was like a slap. I started at the screen for several seconds, just trying to understand.

The deal I’d sealed just days ago had reversed. Even though I had done everything according to plan, it had been done so clean, that it was never supposed to turn on us.

I’d taken over a Sorvino building. Everything was done. Concluded. Finished.

And now this.

My breathing hitched. Everything was too hot, and I saw red everywhere. The fire in my veins made me scream and throw my phone with all my strength, so it went smack on the wall all the way across the room, shattering on impact.

They had something to do with this, no doubt.

I’d boasted about how I could do this to my father. He’d given me the money. He’d given me the order. He’d also thrown me a quizzical look that said perfectly that he didn’t believe me. But I’d held his eye, those cold orbs, and I’d said that I could and would.

I’d given him my word, and now I was left with nothing.

Not even the fucking money he’d given me to seal the deal!

I wanted to punch something. No, that was an understatement. I didn’t just want to punch something. I wanted to scream and beat someone bloody.

Gritting my teeth so hard they could have cracked just to stop myself from aiming my fist at the wall was all I could do. I’d only end up with broken fingers, and nothing would have changed.

At times like this, Paulina was the go-to. Maybe it was because we’d been friends since high school, but she understood me the most. When things like these happened, and I wanted to see everybody go up in flames, she usually knew exactly what I needed.

Tonight, it was the most exclusive lounge in New York.

Samantha drove my hummer, and we all strutted out in our glimmering dresses. Short, tight, black, with heels that could kill a man. My straight blonde hair flowed around me as I led the girls in.

“Miss Petrenko.” The bouncer gave a firm nod as we walked up the steps. There was a long line of people dressed to the teeth, most of them with more than a grand in their pockets to bribe their way to the floor we were heading for.

The bouncer looked away and raised the velvet before his eyes could proceed to roam down my frame. The effort was admirable, he wouldn’t have lived to the end of the week if he’d dared, so I smirked and gave his arm a little caress as I passed.

“Spasibo, moi drug.”

The lowest floor of the building was a club. High-ceilinged, dark, and somehow classy. The Red Place somehow managed to maintain its class despite its clientele.

“Sometimes I think you’re the devil,” Sam confessed as we made our way to the elevator.

We were walking into the foyer, but the thumping of the club’s speakers vibrated everything. I could feel it rattle my ribs. It was down the other way, at the end of a long corridor lined with people flirting, kissing, dry humping.

We were going to the lounge on the top floor, the classiest place to have dinner.

Paulina scoffed. “I heard that one ages ago,” she said, looping her arm with mine. “The devil wearing…what,” she glanced down, “…Versace.” I laughed.

“No, really, you’d have socked that guy just now if he had looked at you a second longer.”

I’d have done more than that, and if I didn’t go all the way, my father would the moment he caught wind of it.

“You worry too much Samantha,” I said and hit the top floor button. Paulina was staring at her reflection, primping up. Sam noticed her reflection and turned this way and that to check up. I flashed my reflection a smile.

I was the princess of the Petrenko family, and the world was my playground. Throughout the rest of the night, I wouldn’t think about the problem with the bank, but I’d get back to it soon.

Loses weren’t for me to take, not sitting down.

The elevator dinged at the top floor. “Let’s have fun, girls,” I said as we walked into the lounge foyer, “It’s all on me.”

The lounge wasn’t thumping with bass music like it’d been downstairs. On the stage below were a pianist and a blues singer, both creating the perfect background music for the chatters, clinking glasses, and popping champagne bottles. A blue crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and the giant paned windows let in the brilliant night view of the city and the sky.

The best table was tucked at a dim corner of the VIP section, between two giant windows, so it could feel like you were floating when you sat there.

The lounge was exquisite. The windows were open in a thin slit in the middle so the breeze and some of the sounds of the city could get in. Paulina, Sam, and I sat there for dinner, laughing and catching up with news of their lives.

Mattis Blanch was the manager of The Red Place. He was the guy that knew everyone around town, the charismatic guy that had enough guts to hold a stare. If anybody were going to interrupt the table of a VIP client, it’d be him.

Him coming with bad news.

“What?” Paulina elbowed me. The frown on my face was piercing as I watched the smiling brown-haired man approach my table.

He used that cheap smile to sweep around the table,

holding everybody’s eyes for a second before settling on me. “Good ev—”

“What is it?” My voice was sharp. Mattis was handsome, but he wasn’t the fine bottle of wine I’d ordered for my table. The waiter bringing the wine was coming up right behind him.

The apologetic look came first, before the piercing, embarrassing words.

“I sincerely apologize, Katya, but this table was reserved, and the person that reserved it is here.”

The silence in my ears was instant. Paulina and Sam exchanged looks, then looked at me wearily.

I almost burst out laughing. This had to be some kind of joke.

The waiter arrived with the wine and was about to open it to fill our glasses; it was an old bottle of Catalan white wine.

Mattis stopped him with a hand and took the bottle.

“Truly, I am sorry for this mix-up. I know it can’t make up for it, but please accept this bottle of wine as a gift and the dinner as well.”

The waiter got the tip and expertly tucked the bill away.

I wasn’t going to make a scene. I wasn’t some cheap girl from Manhattan riding off her father’s back. I was Katya Petrenko, the heir of the Petrenko family.

Still, my smile was stiff. “Of course.”

“Ok…” Sam said hesitantly, locking eyes with Paulina. They were talking without speaking, and I could understand everything.

There really was no need to be worried. There was a difference between being dangerous and being unhinged. One did not equal the other.

“Hand the wine back to the waiter. I don’t need you to follow me.”

The instant relief on Mattis’ face was not mistakable. “Of course.”

“But who is it?” Paulina asked Mattis as we headed back for the elevator. I didn’t ask. A part of me felt like it already knew, but that was only a hunch, and I’d give plenty of things for it not to be right.

That cheap smile stood by the elevator as we got in.

“I’m sorry, Miss Fritz, but I don’t give out customer information.”

Despite myself, I said aloud, “I don’t care. It’s fine so long as it’s not Alessandro Sorvino.”

As the elevator doors closed, I didn’t miss Mattis’s widened smile.