THE EVENT IS A CATHEDRAL OF GLASS AND GOLD.
Lights from the chandeliers hanging above the ceilings scatter around the whole hall like diamonds caught mid-fall. The air is filled with smells of different, expensive types of colognes, the hall is filled with people, women hanging off their husbands arms, and the sound of chatters, heels clicking against the tiles, and clinking of glasses fill the whole place.
I walk between Dmitry and Kirill, my arm resting against Dmitry’s, but the gesture feels less romantic and more strategic. To anyone watching, we’re just another beautiful, polished couple who’ve arrived fashionably late. Only we know that more of Dmitry’s men are scattered outside, waiting for the order to start a war.
And that there are guns holstered against Dmitry and Kirill’s ri
