Page 48 of Tainted Empire
“Mikhail, so good of you to come,” he says, shaking Mikhail’s hand before he turns to me. “And this must be the famous Gabriette.”
“My better half,” Mikhail says, his voice laced with a hint of warning.
I offer a polite smile, my mind racing with Mikhail’s advice. Be smart, be observant. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Durov.”
He kisses my hand, his gaze lingering. “The pleasure is mine. Enjoy the evening,” he says, before slipping back into the crowd.
As we move through the room, Mikhail points out the key figures. “There’s Irina Markovic, by the bar. You two will have something in common with your love for classical music.”
Irina, with her striking blonde hair and keen eyes, is engaged in a conversation. I file away the information, intrigued by the prospect of finding common ground.
Mikhail’s voice lowers as he nods towards a man with a prominent scar across his left cheek. “There’s Viktor Dragojevic. Remember what I said, stay clear of him.”
I glance at Viktor, noting the coldness in his eyes, the way he observes the room like a predator. My skin crawls at the sight of him, and I instinctively move closer to Mikhail.
Throughout the evening, I stay close to Mikhail, my senses heightened. I engage in small talk, laugh at the right moments, but my mind never strays far from the warnings Mikhail gave me.
I pretend to be the brainless socialite they expect me to be, play my cards well so they overlook me as a potential threat. But I have to say, for a bunch of dangerous men, they’re easily disarmed by a smile and tits.
At one point, Irina Markovic approaches me while Mikhail is talking to some senator.
“Oh, if it isn’t the protege!” she exclaims with a hand to her chest. “Sebastian has told me all about you and when I went to see you perform… My God, your piece moved me to tears!”
I am so taken aback that I can do nothing but smile like an idiot before I find my voice.
“Thank you,” I smile, grateful for the familiar topic. “Thank you, Ms. Markovic. Music has always been a passion of mine.”
Irina’s smile is both warm and calculating. “Please, call me Irina. And yes, it’s fascinating,” she says with a sigh. “Will you be joining the philharmonic as well?”
“There’s an open invitation that I may take up,” I say and this mention of my music is the perfect segue into deeper conversation. “But music is a part of who I am; it’s a language that goes beyond words.”
A look of genuine interest crosses her face. “That’s a beautiful sentiment. Do you have a favorite piece to play?”
“Definitely Elgar’s Cello Concerto,” I reply. “There’s a depth of emotion in it that’s almost tangible. Elgar poured his soul into every note.”
Her eyes light up, reflecting a true appreciation for the subject. “Ah, Elgar! There’s a melancholic beauty to his work. It’s moving. Do you perform often?”
“Whenever the opportunity arises,” I say, feeling more at ease as the conversation flows naturally. “There’s something about connecting with an audience through the resonating strings of the cello that’s just magical.”
Our conversation drifts from classical music to the broader strokes of the art world, and I can feel Irina becoming more engaged. Her initial guarded demeanor seems to melt away as we find more common ground.
As we wrap up our conversation, Irina leans in slightly, her tone more intimate. “You know, Gabriette, I didn’t expect someone of your caliber in Mikhail’s circle. It’s quite refreshing.”
I smile at the backhanded compliment, knowing she’s trying to get a rise out of me. “Mikhail’s world is full of unexpected twists. I’m learning to navigate it with my own touch.”
She nods, her expression one of newfound respect. “You’re doing an impressive job. It’s rare to see someone, especially a woman, adapt so well in these circles.”
Her compliment feels like a subtle endorsement, and I sense that I’ve managed to make a meaningful connection with one of the gala’s key figures.
When Mikhail rejoins us, he smiles at us both but I can sense the apprehension. “I see you two have hit it off,” he observes, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
“We have,” Irina agrees, giving him an appreciative nod. “Your Gabriette is quite the revelation.”
“That she is,” he says with a wink before he steers me to another part of the hall.
After Mikhail and I part ways with Irina, I feel a surge of accomplishment. Not only have I navigated the complexities of the gala, but I’ve also left a strong impression on one of its most influential attendees.
Our conversation flows easily, and for a moment, I forget the undercurrents of danger around us. But then I catch a glimpse of Viktor Dragojevic watching us, his scar a stark reminder of the world I’ve stepped into.