A woman in head-to-toe Valentino descends on us, and Raymond’s attention pivots. I use the opportunity to ease half a step back away from him, take a long sip of the sparkling water I’ve been nursing since we walked in, and scan the room for a bathroom or a balcony or really any exit at all—
And that’s when I see him.
He’s standing across the ballroom, one elbow on the bar, a whiskey in his hand. Black tux. Black bowtie. Black everything, except the pale skin of his throat and the piercing blue of his eyes, which are already fixed on me, because why wouldn’t they be?
What is he doing here?!
My first thought is that I’m being stalked.
My second thought is that I’m being watched over, which—given what I saw Matvei do to those men in the alley—is less reassuring than you might expect.
