Chapter 17 - The Serpent in the Ballroom and the Queen's First Strike
Nikolai stopped exactly three feet away from our luxurious,
black-draped table,
his massive,
muscular bodyguards standing silently,
intimidatingly directly behind his broad,
imposing shoulders.
He looked down at Vincent with a false,
exaggerated expression of friendly,
brotherly warmth,
though the thick,
heavy tension in the air felt exactly like a lit,
burning fuse attached directly to a massive powder keg.
"Vincent,
my old,
formidable friend,"
Nikolai boomed loudly,
his thick,
heavy Russian accent echoing clearly over the soft,
classical music playing in the background,
"It is a rare,
surprising pleasure to see you bringing such delicate,
beautiful company to our dark,
bloody gatherings."
Vincent leaned back slowly in his plush,
velvet chair,
picking up a crystal glass of expensive,
dark whiskey,
his expression remaining completely,
utterly unreadable,
a mask of cold,
terrifying indifference.
"Nikolai,"
Vincent replied smoothly,
his voice low,
even,
and completely devoid of any genuine,
friendly warmth,
"I see you are still breathing,
despite the sudden,
unfortunate disruption in your illegal,
unauthorized supply chains."
Nikolai's false,
arrogant smile faltered for a tiny,
barely perceptible fraction of a second,
a flash of genuine,
murderous anger violently crossing his pale,
scarred features before he quickly masked it with a deep,
booming laugh.
"Business is always full of sudden,
unexpected complications,
Vincent,"
Nikolai countered smoothly,
his cold,
dead eyes finally shifting away from the Mafia Boss to lock intensely,
predatorily onto my calm,
unflinching face.
"And who is this stunning,
silent creature sitting at your side,"
the Russian boss asked condescendingly,
reaching out a large,
rough hand as if to inappropriately,
disrespectfully touch my bare,
shivering shoulder.
Before his filthy,
calloused fingers could even come close to my skin,
Vincent's hand snapped forward with blinding,
terrifying speed,
gripping Nikolai's thick wrist with a bone-crushing,
vicious force that made the larger man gasp in sudden,
sharp pain.
"Do not touch her,"
Vincent whispered darkly,
his voice dropping to a lethal,
demonic growl that made the surrounding,
eavesdropping guests instinctively take a rapid,
terrified step backward,
"If you so much as breathe on my Queen,
I will personally,
slowly remove your arm from its socket."
Nikolai yanked his hand back violently,
rubbing his bruised,
aching wrist,
his bodyguards instantly,
aggressively tensing,
their hands reaching rapidly for their concealed,
loaded weapons.
Marcus and our own heavily armed shadows immediately mirrored the aggressive,
violent movement,
the entire ballroom holding its collective,
terrified breath,
waiting for the inevitable,
bloody massacre to suddenly,
violently erupt.
I knew I had to intervene,
I had to prove to the entire,
watching underworld that I did not just hide behind Vincent's massive,
terrifying protection,
that I possessed my own sharp,
lethal claws.
"It is quite alright,
Vincent,"
I said calmly,
my voice ringing out clearly,
melodically in the tense,
heavy silence,
placing my small,
delicate hand gently over his massive,
clenched fist,
instantly calming the raging,
murderous storm brewing in his dark eyes.
I turned my attention directly to the furious,
embarrassed Russian boss,
offering him a cold,
calculating,
and utterly dismissive smile that I had practiced endlessly in the dark,
quiet library.
"My name is Lena,"
I stated clearly,
meeting his intimidating,
pale eyes without a single,
solitary ounce of fear,
"And I am the one who personally,
thoroughly reviewed Carlo's manipulated,
pathetic ledgers last month."
Nikolai froze completely,
staring at me in absolute,
stunned disbelief,
the color draining rapidly from his scarred,
weathered face as he realized that the beautiful,
seemingly fragile woman sitting before him was the exact,
precise architect of his massive financial ruin.
"You thought you were being clever,
Nikolai,"
I continued smoothly,
my tone dripping with elegant,
refined condescension,
"Hiding an eight percent discrepancy in the fuel costs to cover the heavy,
illegal weight of your undocumented weapons."
I leaned forward slightly,
resting my elbows gracefully on the dark silk tablecloth,
my diamond necklace catching the bright,
sparkling light as I delivered the final,
crushing verbal blow.
"It was a sloppy,
amateur mistake,
the kind of basic,
pathetic arithmetic error I would expect from a desperate,
street-level thug,
not the supposed,
feared leader of a massive international syndicate."
The silence in the ballroom was absolute,
deafening,
and incredibly,
beautifully heavy.
Nikolai opened his mouth to speak,
to shout,
to violently defend his bruised,
shattered ego,
but absolutely no words came out,
his mind completely,
utterly short-circuiting under the sheer,
unprecedented audacity of my cold,
calculated insult.
Vincent let out a low,
dark,
and incredibly proud chuckle,
leaning back in his chair and pulling me gently,
possessively closer to his warm,
muscular side.
"I suggest you walk away,
Nikolai,"
Vincent advised smoothly,
his eyes shining with a lethal,
triumphant amusement,
"Before my Queen decides to publicly,
ruthlessly dismantle the rest of your pathetic,
crumbling empire right here,
in front of everyone."
Nikolai shot me a look of pure,
unadulterated,
murderous hatred,
turning sharply on his heavy heel,
and marching furiously,
rapidly away from our table,
his confused,
humiliated guards quickly rushing to follow his angry,
retreating path.
I let out a long,
shaky breath,
my heart hammering violently against my ribs,
but as Vincent pressed a soft,
proud kiss to my trembling temple,
I knew I had successfully,
May you like
beautifully passed the ultimate,
terrifying test.
