Matvei inclines his head in a graceful half-bow that looks almost royal when he does it. “Of course.”
And then Raymond is gone, cutting through the crowd toward a knot of men in the far corner. I’m left standing alone at the bar with the father of the baby in my uterus, who is coincidentally also the man I walked into a bar to hire to kill the man who just introduced us.
Matvei waits until Raymond is out of earshot. Then, very quietly, without looking at me: “Come with me.”
“Anywhere that isn’t here. Now.”
Matvei finds a corridor off the ballroom, past the coat check and down a narrow service hall, and opens a door onto what appears to be a storage room for extra banquet chairs.
He steps in and I follow. Then he shuts the door and leans his back against it.
He doesn’t seem interested
