If only he knew what was sitting in his pocket, inches away from his heart.
Katerina Volkov is nothing like I expected.
Based on Irina Petrov’s ice-queen demeanor, I assumed all Russian mafia princesses would be cut from the same frigid cloth. But Katerina is warm, animated, with a laugh that actually sounds genuine.
She greets Vince with a kiss on both cheeks, then surprises me by extending the same courtesy.
“Ms. St. Clair!” she crows happily. “A pleasure to meet Vince’s right hand.”
I smile, instantly wrong-footed by her friendliness. “Likewise, Ms. Volkov.”
“Please, call me Kat. Everyone does.”
Vince looks as surprised as I feel by her casual demeanor. We’re seated at a prime table, Katerina and Vince facing each other, me at a slightly awkward third point in the triangle. Close
