Page 74 of A Love Most Fatal

Leo and Mary have always been two peas in a pod. I had no idea that Leo spending so much time with Nate could possibly feel like an attack on their friendship. I am trying very diligently not to laugh at this idea.

“No,” Mary says. “I’m offended you would even think that?—”

“Excuse me,” a deep voice says from behind us. Mary’s face hardens at the newcomer, and I’m surprised to see an Orlov when I turn around.TheOrlov.

“Maxim Orlov. A pleasure,” I say, and hold out a hand to shake his. It’s not a lie, either. Maxim is the head of the Orlov crime family, and though his father was a piece of shit, I’ve only had good interactions with his only son. “You’ve met my sister, I know.”

“I have,” Maxim nods politely at my sister.

Mary, on the other hand, looks like she might want to burn his house down. Their conversation earlier tonight seemed cordial enough from her brusque report afterward, but I am certainly missing something.

“I hear congratulations are in order on an engagement?” I ask. His face goes grim.

“No, that didn’t pan out, unfortunately.” He sounds truly regretful at this. I don’t know if he was marrying for love, but I might guess it was to rectify his own lack of an heir.

Opportunity scratches at the back of my brain; he wouldn’t make a bad alliance. Maybe not even a bad husband.

I file this information away for later when he speaks again.

“We will be keeping an ear to the ground regarding your pest issue,” Maxim says. “I don’t mean to overstep, but I recommend you look inward. Sometimes adversary wears the mask of a friend.”

“I appreciate that,” I say. I do not believe that Maxim is the one sabotaging me, though he has family I am less familiar with. As for his comment about looking internally for the rat, it strikes closer to my insecurities than I think he intended.

“I wonder, Mary, if you’d like to dance?” Maxim asks.

I think she’ll say no, maybe even spit at him the way her eyes are blazing, but instead, she straightens her shoulders and hands me her glass before she walks past him to the dance floorfull of guests moving together to the music. He gives me one last closed mouth smile before following her there.

How strange.

I haven’t spoken to Cillian since he was throwing shit around the warehouse acting like an ass, and I can tell by the smug grin on his face that he’s tipsy if not fully drunk from the open bar as he approaches me.

“Nessie, Nessie,” Cillian says when he stops by my side, too close. Whatever thousand-dollar cologne he has on fills my nostrils immediately in a way that makes me want to sneeze.

He’s been family for thirteen years, and most days I quite like him, but sometimes I loathe him. Usually at parties.

“Have I told you I love this dress?”

“You haven’t,” I say, unamused.

“Shall we dance? If we get lucky, we might see Mary stab the Russian.”

“Sounds like just what this night needs, anincident,” I say. Cillian plucks the glasses from my hands and deposits them on the tray of a waiter passing by. I can’t even say no before his hand is on my back leading me forward. “You should go home, Cillian.”

“And miss the fun? I could never.” Cillian tugs me towards him, our chests almost touching as the song turns to a slower, swaying tune. He ducks his head near my ear, that whiskey breath hot on my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“So I’ve heard,” I say. Cillian drags a hand down my bare arm and then, gripping my fingers, spins me once before pulling me closer.Ever one for theatrics. “You’re drunk.”

“And you, Vanessa, are the belle of the ball,” he says.

“Have you learned anything useful while sneaking into corners to ravish the wives of local politicians?” Cillian’s palm is dry, the skin coarse from years of weight training and fighting.I know scars crisscross the knuckles he is scraping lightly across my back.

“I think we should go home together tonight,” Cillian says, either evading my question, or ignoring it altogether.

“What the hell, Cillian?” I whisper.

“What? I think it’s time you send your yappy little dog back where he came from and call off the search.”

I glance over at said yappy dog, who stands at the edge of the room watching us with his hands in his pants pockets. Always with his hands in those pockets.